


Stranglehold

by SiSuSi



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Demons, Emotional Manipulation, Emotions, Evil Dean Winchester, Hearing Voices, Hurt/Comfort, Multi, Paranoia, Paranoid Dean Winchester, Psychological Torture, Sick Dean Winchester, Sickness, uneasiness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-11
Updated: 2019-05-03
Packaged: 2020-01-11 18:13:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 15
Words: 42,207
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18429452
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SiSuSi/pseuds/SiSuSi
Summary: “Oh God,“ he cried, “Oh God, we’re all gonna die“Family is everything for the Winchesters - and it doesn't end with blood. They follow a rather thought-out plan, but suddenly an unexpected event and screams change their destination completely. Dark and evil take possession of Dean... but what is it?





	1. Chapter One

# Chapter One

_I don’t have anything to do with death. Am I, he is not. Is he, I am not.  
(Tora, Epicure of Samos)_

_Ground zero. Somewhere in Wisconsin._

“We can do this one way or another,“ he said. “Either you fight and I kill you while trying, or I kill you right away“

He was surrounded, but not a bit intimidated. Two hunters inside the room, ready to fight. Cane was hiding behind Dean like a coward lamb, shivering and sweat soaked and whining to himself. He had just met his rescuers, but against all reason he trusted them blindly. He didn’t have any choice, though. He had no idea how to protect himself, he didn’t even know who those guys were, neither the man that wanted to kill him. The only thing he knew in this very moment was fear. Maybe he had taken it too far this time.

“Oh God,“ he cried, “Oh God, we’re all gonna die“

“Shut up,“ Dean snarled, still thinking about a plan. He did a look around, but not knowing what he was searching for. Couldn’t kill him, for they didn’t bring the knife. For whatever reason they had forgotten it in the trunk, or hadn’t thought they would need it. So the only chance was to corner him somehow and send him back where he had come from. Yet, he didn’t know how. There was no time for hidden traps at the ceiling or under some carpet. No time for tricks. For it was a total coincidence they were even here. Here in this old dusty cabin in the middle of some forest in Wisconsin. In the middle of the night. In fact they had been searching for something else. Then they had found this hut and heard screams. They had no idea what was happening here, or what that civilian was doing here in the first place. But that wasn’t even important just then. First things first, they had to try and get out of here somehow. 

And then it seemed the demon had had enough foreplay. Nobody would cross his plans. His assigned mission would be fulfilled and nobody would get in his way. He raised his hand, his eyes turning an onyx color. Cane peered over Dean’s shoulder and when he saw, he froze in horror, before he suddenly fell, as Dean was thrown against one of the wooden walls. A painful moan drowned the room, when Dean tried to get away from the wall he was pinned to, all his limbs unnaturally abducted from his body, as if being crucified, hanging in the air like a new wallpaper. Blood was running out of his nose and he felt his innards cramping, tossing and turning, an invisible force tearing them apart. 

“DEAN!“ Sam cried, making a step towards him, before abruptly falling to the ground with his arms wrapped about his torso, crouching upon the wet dark wooden floor. And Dean believed his lungs would burst, barely able to breathe the foul dusty air that surrounded everything. A dark laugh echoed through the musty corners, when the black-eyed did several slow steps towards Dean. Red sticky blood was running down the Winchester’s chin and slowly dripping down his throat, his gaze full of anger and confidence, even in a hopeless situation like this. He had gotten close to losing several times before, but there was always a way out, he believed, you just had to find it.

The demon stepped very close to the man at the wall, until his black soulless eyeballs were all Dean could see, like a large mass of sheer nothingness. A wicked smile designed the face that wasn’t his own, strange and ice cold and stolen. And for a moment Dean wondered who the poor bastard was the other one was wearing, hating the fact that demons would possess just anybody at any time, whenever they want and without thinking even for a single minute about what it did to the human they used. But then again, that’s what demons do. They’re not supposed to care.

“I’m gonna let you suffer,“ he said in a sweet sugary tone, or as sweet as a man’s deep voice could get. The words had hardly even entered Dean’s head, as he felt a harsh pain inside his chest, as if something would squeeze his lungs and scratch at his rips. More blood made its way out of his mouth, coloring his lips crimson and a metallic taste conquering his conscious. His sight went blurry, something turning within him and threatening to end him. And when he thought the pain would force him to fall into an unsafe sleep, he felt a pounding pull inside his stomach, like an ulcer, and it pushed upwards and all of a sudden, like a bad surprise or an unexpected punch, he emptied his vomit over himself and the floor beneath. He tried to cough, only gasped however, as the blood spouted out of his mouth. And he spat and swallowed and spat again, for the taste upon his tongue was hardly bearable and formed new sickness. 

“You’re disgusting,“ the one in front of him said, but Dean was barely able to hear him. He was stuck in a nightmare, trying hard to stay awake, because passing out would be worse and his certain death. The demon turned up his nose, inhaled the scent of blood and dust and foulness and vomit. But not like he would sicken, he enjoyed it. All the death and all the dying, and all of it just through his very own hands. The power of decay satisfying like nothing else in his world. Too absent by enjoying the creation he had made, he forgot all the others in the room and suddenly felt a knife in his leg. Iron drowned in salt. Not deadly, but painful enough. And his wound burned like the fires of hell and anger flamed up and patience ended. Again he raised his hand. His powers grabbed Cane, wrapped around his throat and Cane’s eyes became weak and weary. Desperately he gasped for air and life. He rattled a stony, “Please,“ when the black-eyed twisted his fingers and made his hand a fist to kill even the last remaining air within the man. His arm fell and so did Cane, lifeless and without movement, his eyes closed, the skin of his face pale and his lips blue by lack of oxygen. 

The smirk only faded from the demon’s stolen face, when his true form, in shape of black evil smoke, flew out of his dead vessel and disappeared through the fire place. Sam was gasping still on the floor and Dean sank down to him. No matter how horrible he felt, he still needed to know his brother safe. But he couldn’t help but give in to the comforting feeling of passing out. His lids fluttered shut and silent sleep settled over him like a warm blanket. The damp wood of the timber piling felt raw in his face, but still as good as a soft pillow, and cold dust filled his rattling lung, like snow trying to protect naked trees. Cold and freezing. Darkness broke into his head and unconsciousness snaked into it all. 

And that was when something came to him. Unknown and unnoticed its strange and unfamiliar shape floated over and hovered above Dean only for a single instant. He couldn’t see it through his closed lids, but he felt it. Touching his skin, starting at his waist and on over neck and throat and tickling and scratching without being fought, hot and cold at the same time. It almost felt good, like a soft caress or a cool breeze during a hot day of summer. Like it was protecting him and calming. Like it wanted him to be safe as well. The invisible billow of energy moved about him in soft caresses and warmth and soothing, until it seemed like it was contented, and then suddenly sank into his closed eyes, freezing his skin in a brief unbearable arctic coldness and entering his head and mind. And then blackout took over control and both of the Winchesters would neither remember nor even know anything had happened, the entity in the older one’s head buried for now and unwilling to reveal itself just yet.

_____________________

A dull moan vibrated through his body, as Dean was starting to win back his consciousness. Carefully he blinked away the bright sunlight that entered through the windows in long diagonal shapes, the dust flying in them like it was dancing. He looked about the room, after a moment of dizziness and confusion recognizing his surroundings. Coughing, he sat up, his arm wrapped about his torso like tried protection, but hardly helpful against the dull pain deep inside his ribcage. Every breath seemed like shatters of glass and metal were slicing through his lungs. And once again he felt sick.

“Good,“ he heard, “you’re up.“

Bobby came around the corner, emerging from the kitchen, bringing him a glass of water that he didn’t want to drink, even when his throat felt dry and dead. His forehead shaped in crinkles, as if he saw his friend for the very first time in his life and still not understanding anything, his mind still searching for his last memory. 

“What the hell happened?“ Dean barely even whispered with a voice like gravel. 

“You were out,“ Bobby answered, stating the obvious. 

“Where’s the son of a bitch?“ he said, meaning the demon, and something inside the Winchester found the energy for anger, mere and pure and blood-boiling rage with no reason to it at all. Not for long, though. Something sickened his head and stomach and everything else felt so wrong and so strange.

“Gone.“

Dean’s eyes widened and he was almost on and about to get into the Impala and start hunting, but his tired limbs failed him and his mind and rest of his body, too.

“He’s gone, boy. No idea whereto, he left his vessel.“

Dean shook his head, his look down to the floor and the dizziness returning back to him like an unwanted visitor. Oppressively it pushed itself against his eyes and his head felt like something was swelling within it. “And what about the civilian?“ he asked, as the missing pieces of his memory were slowly but surely coming back to him. A deep sigh went out of Bobby then and Dean knew what it meant. Only now he noticed the thick smoke outside the windows, soaring up into the sky like the grey and dark reminder of how short life can be and how deadly it ends. He rose, careful not to hurt himself even more, fighting back and suppressing the stinging pain that rattled through his interior and despite his shaking legs and the sickening thrust inside him, and moved towards the back door with incredibly slow steps. 

He reached the backyard of the slightly ramshackle house Bobby hadn't always taken good care of, as it seemed and looked, the painting on the outside coming off in strips of beige particles, the lawn un-mowed and covered with weeds that were left unbothered and undisturbed, much like the old grumpy man this place belonged to. Bad weeds grow tall, don’t they? 

Dean found his brother still and stiffened, his arms crossed before his body, his muscles tense like the expression his face wore. He stood beside him and eyeballed the play. A big pile of already carbonized wood set to something that looked much like a pyre. On it the corpse of a man wrapped in white linen, burning and dead like the wood he bid his last farewell upon. 

The older Winchester lost count of how often he had seen corpses burn like that. But he remembered the first one quite well. It was some hunter friend of his dad’s, his name was Robin. They had hunted a nest of vampires together, John and his friend actively hunting, Dean only helping with the research and watching the hunt from a safe distance, for he had still been only a child and not ready, according to his father. And Robin had gotten himself killed. Dean had been fourteen years old to that time. He recalled the smell and the awful feeling it had gotten him. His first hunters funeral, being attached to his memory, mind and childly soul like the dark mark of an evil harming stain he wouldn't ever be able to rid himself of. 

The heat of the fire swelled against him and tightened his skin, the grey smoke crawling into his raspy nose as well as the foul scent of burning flesh. The stink of death. He would always recognize it, memorized at the age of fourteen, never would he forget it. But it all had also something peaceful to it, maybe even beautiful. Though the stabbing feeling of failure mixed itself with sultry air and reek and heat and made his stomach turn inside out painfully. And before he knew it, he fell to his knees and to the ground on all fours, throwing up onto the gravely ground in an abrupt and tearing motion, though it was only gall and some blood. And his old friend dizziness came back to his head. 

“You okay?“ he heard Sam say, for this was the first time he ever saw his strong and controlled brother unable to cope with a dead body burning on the pyre. The dull and quiet voice was nothing in his ears, compared to the shrill ring in them he only now really noticed, but still catching that aching worry in his younger brother’s voice that Dean hated the most of all things. For he was the one supposed to be worried and Sammy shouldn’t have to.

“Obviously,“ he only gave, allowing himself to stay seated on the ground and on his heels for just a while more, while the hot light of the midday South Dakota sun burned down on them like a merciless force of nature, adding to the pyre fire’s heat just enough to soak them both in sweat within minutes and drying out the dusty grounds of Bobby Singer’s properties.


	2. Chapter Two

# Chapter Two

_If I am not for myself, who is, and am I only by myself, what am I, and if not now, when else?  
(Hillel)_

_Day one. Sioux Falls, South Dakota._

Another wave of caramel brown alcohol landed in a ripple in the small glass. It burned down his throat, warming his empty stomach the way a good cup of tea would, but more bitter and numbing than soothing and healthy. His glance fell across the dark of the wide abandoned field before him, his hand touching the cold metal material of the salvaged dusty vehicle he was sitting on. He liked it here. He liked how the nothingness locked him in, how silence surrounded him and how nobody was here but him. No one could see him here, he was alone in the quiet cool night. It was as if inside the darkness he had no name, for he didn’t need to have one, for he didn’t need to be anyone here. 

Sleep seemed unimaginable to him, even when he hadn’t had any sleep last night. There was so much speaking against it, like weird dreams and aching body parts and the sheer inevitable of having to listen to his thoughts his mind held prepared for him behind closed lids, drowning out the tiredness that lay upon his bones like an additional weight. Too many thoughts were crossing his mind. Maybe too much guilt as well. No matter what the others said, Dean blamed himself for what had happened. He should have prevented it. He could have rescued that man. Even though hunter’s rule number one was _you can’t save everyone_ , Dean still felt like he hadn’t tried hard enough.

Dean hadn’t actually known him, but the civilian had seemed like a decent guy. A victim he should have rescued and saved and still he hadn’t been able to. A simple innocent man, who had counted on him and had been failed. And now he was dead. Even when he knew it wasn’t a productive thing to do to cope with the guilt that way, Dean couldn’t help but imagine what his life had been like. He imagined the man rushing down some street, being on the phone, wearing a suit, custom-made and expensive, one appointment after another. A diligent ant inside the whole of the community, doing its duties and doing its bit to make society function. Of course hardly anybody knew that there were creatures out there, who didn’t belong to this community. Without any duties and without any bit to do, doing everything to make nothing function anymore. Even the civilian hadn’t known. Only when moribund being allowed to learn it, and Dean would have given anything to spare him that. Like he always tried to spare everyone. All they had been able to do for him then was an honorable funeral. 

He downed his eyes to the ground. The biting smell of burning flesh was still stuck in his nostrils. Dark grass and grey gravel in his eyes. He looked at his feet. They felt cold and numb. And suddenly he wondered for how long he had he been sitting here. His inner clock failed him, but he didn’t even care. As if in trance he stared at them without thinking anything, his head completely dry of thoughts. And still, deep within him, behind all the guilt-tripping and self-loathing, there was something bothering him. A flash echoed inside his cells like thunder in the clouds. There was this nerve-wracking mind-losing crazy-making sound ringing in his ears like the ring of a bell, only much louder and shriller, smothering his brain by its pressure and pulsing. It was hard to hear anything above it, barely possible, and it was yet another reason for him to try and be alone as much as he possibly could. 

Just then an odd scurry seemed to occur somewhere near where he sat, like the rushing movement of a small animal or the sneaking stalk of a predator. And then he suddenly didn’t feel alone anymore. He swiftly opened his heavy and sleepy eyes and looked around. The collection of old metal and rubber and leather seemed abandoned and dead, like a dishonorable graveyard for cars. Not a sound was audible, not any movement or impulse. Not even a hint of wind. The air was standing still and time seemed to do so as well. But the feeling of company didn’t let go of him. And a flush stirred through his body, making his heartbeat speed up, the blood rushing through his veins like comets through space, burning and pushing and something didn’t let go of him. His hands began to shake and the hair on his skin vibrated like the membranes in his ears. Sudden panic and wet-cold night air breathed into his aching lungs and something didn’t let go of him.

Over and over again he looked around the dull darkness, the rusty cars, the empty field, the garage by the house and the backyard near it. But he couldn’t see what was there, not even shadows. It appeared like he was all alone, but inside he felt its presence, its energy, but he just couldn't locate it. Shaking like on the verge of jumping someone, he went on like this, repeating the scan of all the corners and angles, uneasily searching his surroundings, trying to make sense of all this. 

And then he finally let it go. Couldn't help a nervous laugh, a little unsure still. He felt silly and almost ashamed of himself. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath, his hands wiping the cold sweat off his temples and forehead and silence returning for a moment. He was alone. And it was good he was alone. There was no chance he was ready to fight or even just to protect himself. And even if it would have only been one of the guys, he didn’t feel like talking just then, neither to his surrogate father, nor his only brother. He didn’t feel like explaining himself, like answering questions. He didn’t feel like anything. The urge for loneliness and peace seemed bigger than even the desire to live. 

A thousand times they had asked the older of the Winchester brothers how he was feeling. A thousand times they had wished to talk to him. And a thousand times he had refused. Talking felt like the gall would rise up inside him again, as if his tongue was soaked in the taste and would remind him of it over and over again, whenever it was forced to form words. And the bone-crushing closeness of other people only woke the wish in him to run away. No room or space in the entire world seemed to have enough air for both him and everyone else. Only outside he was able to breathe properly. And then he also couldn’t bear being looked at. Their glances sliced through his skin like brittle knifes full of rust and dirt. And it was itching and he couldn’t keep himself from scratching. As if he tried to crowd out an urge that was streaming through his throat flickeringly and inevitably. It had something comforting to it, though, scratching it, but couldn’t comfort him anyway. 

Once more he stared into the distance and couldn’t see, trying to push it away, trying to push aside the momentum within him and to withstand it and not scratch. Though, his neck was burning and felt damp, his skin hurt and open and a clear fluid running down, for his fingernails had buried themselves into his flesh without him even being aware of it. His mind seemed lost at times and all was wrong and nothing seemed right. 

Then, out of nowhere, his name quietly echoed into his ears. For a split second he thought he was only daydreaming, questioning himself whether he had actually heard it or only imagined it. When he was almost sure it had been an actual and real sound, he pushed some uneasy air out of his nose, as if he was trying to drive it away that way. He didn’t have to turn around to know he, in fact, wasn’t alone anymore this time, sensing for some sort of empathetic intuition what shared the same blood and had always seemed to be a part of him. 

“What,“ he muttered in a somewhat annoyed whisper, feeling a hand on his shoulder that felt unusual and unfamiliar even, warm and comfortable, but like a heavy burden threatening to bring upon his downfall. 

“What you doing out here?“ Sam asked and Dean could clearly hear that so detested worry in his brother’s voice again, unwilling to understand it. He wasn’t anywhere near fine, obviously, but Sam didn’t know that, of course, and he didn’t need to know either. The older brother would pick up courage, he thought to himself, he would stop behaving like a sullen child and stop falling into that threatening abyss he found himself in. At some point he would reach the ground at the bottom of it and then stand back up again, just like he always did. But as long as he was still falling, he would be wayward and restless and outside. His brother didn’t need to help him with that, for there was no way he could. Two people were just too many for aloneness. All Dean needed his brother to do was to think he was perfectly fine, or at least fine enough.

“What are _you_ doing out here?“ Dean gave back.

“I was looking for you.“

“Why?“ and Dean knew if he looked at him right now, he would find confusion or maybe irritation in his brother’s face, and that’s why he didn’t. He just needed his charade to be as convincing as possible, so he had to be as much of a bitchy ass as he possibly could, for that’s what Perfectly-Fine-Dean would do. 

“What d’you mean why?“ No longer was it only worry in the younger Winchester’s voice, anger mixing to it and frustration over his brother’s stubborn belief he always had to deal with things by himself. It was that strong determination within the older one, attached to him ever since he had carried him out of their burning home, back when they had been children, and conditioned by their father to protect everyone, especially his little brother. Only that sometimes, Sam thought, Dean forgot to look out for himself, also forgetting that it was okay to ask for help. 

Dean didn’t have the energy for this, neither did he even feel like dealing with it. He had no idea how to keep acting his way out of conversations like this one and for how long he would be able to keep the masquerade going. How to feel right, while everything he did and everything he said and even everything he saw felt so wrong. He was becoming someone he didn’t know yet. He was turning into someone else. Dean was aware of that, the curtains were starting to fall more and more, enlightening him in a way that scared him to death. There was no stopping. No denying. No escape. There was only hiding it. Hiding how sick he felt and how wrong and how much it actually bothered him. Just until he would have found a way to end it. 

But he couldn’t stop thinking, _What if it never stops? What if I’ll be like this forever? Or worse, what if I change into something? Something that needs to be hunted._ And how would he even keep existing, when everything he was disappeared? And also, where is the point? He felt helpless and unable to make sense of any of this and to make it stop. Be himself again. Feel himself. For all he felt within was change.

“Go to bed, Sammy,“ he ordered, then heard quiet steps behind him and the heavy burden released. Dean knew he wasn’t being fair, and he knew it was horrible to keep secrets like that. But you can’t tell the truth, when you don’t know it. And the worst thing was, although he knew the game he was playing was beyond wrong and unfair, and dishonest even, he didn’t actually feel bad about it. He tried to, because he knew he normally would, but he couldn’t bring himself to. Dean just felt empty. Empty and wayward in an unpredictable way. And itching. The itch on the side of his neck never stopped and never eased and never was he able to withstand it. Nevertheless there was a small part of him that still felt disgusted by himself. All the lies and all the dirty play. That’s not Dean. And that’s exactly the point. He knew he was against all that, the behavior, the attitude, the way he treated his family. But disagreeing with how he acted only felt like he was against himself. But wasn’t he for himself, who would be? He was aware of that he couldn’t be isolating himself forever, for he needed them and they needed him. And then also, was he just by himself, he was nothing.


	3. Chapter Three

# Chapter Three

_Watch your thoughts, because they turn to words. Watch your words, because they turn to acts. Watch your acts, because they turn to habits. Watch your habits, because they turn to your personality. Watch your personality, because it turns to your destiny._

_Day five. Sioux Falls._

“Look who pays a visit,“ Bobby taunted and sipped on his beer. He was leaning against his desk, one hand in the pocket of his jeans and his look not telling a thing of what was going on inside his head, like always. Sam sat in a chair in the corner, tipping on his laptop. He almost looked silly, wasn’t it for that mere and utter concentration of his. He lifted his eyes and a bit of surprise crept into his face. 

“You just gotta miss me,“ the older Winchester said, a self-satisfied grin forming his lips. Dean went over to the kitchen and the creaking squeak of the old fridge sounded through the room like a wake-up call for everyone. Like a reminder of the fact that Dean still wasn’t anywhere near himself. He sure acted normal from time to time, but something inside his eyes always cried lie, like a bursting scream out into the world. Something told them that something was still off about him and he just tried to hide it. 

“Don’t you think you’ve drunk enough during the last couple of days?“ Sam criticized and Dean knew it was less a question, but more of an accusation. 

“You’re just jealous, cause you got the liver of a little girl.“

A derisive glare flew in his direction, but he couldn’t care less. He didn’t need to be told how to live his life, least of all by his stick-up-his-ass health fanatic of a little brother. No matter what a grand pile of disappointment and crap his life was, he was still the owner of it, so he was the one deciding about the way it was going to be shaped. Dean knew he wouldn’t make his brother stop pouring his grandmotherly concern over him like there weren’t other things to worry about, like monsters or ghosts or Crowley. But even when he had to bear it, he didn’t have to like it. He would handle it the way he always did. With passive-aggressive sarcasm and restrained anger disguised in mild insults. And alcohol.

“I’m like a good cocktail,“ he said. “The more, the better.“

“That doesn't make any sense.“ Sam noted in annoyance. 

“You sure you ain’t just trying to suppress something, boy?“ Bobby asked, trying to ignore the Winchesters’ little quarrel and an almost amused snort coming out of him. Bobby always seemed to know things. See behind the curtains and word the truth behind all the play. It was a useful gift to have around, whenever Dean needed to tell off his little brother and didn’t find the words he needed to make his point. But generally, he hated it. He hated the way Bobby could see through his masquerade and beyond that even told everyone else about it as well. All the effort he made to hide what was going on in his head and Bobby still always knew. He hated to be seen and revealed like that. Walking and living inside these walls in Sioux Falls always felt like he was stark naked all the time.

“I don’t know what exactly you’re talking about,“ he gave back after a few seconds, shaking off the unsureness Bobby’s comment arouse and keeping his voice and words a rather professorish or snobbish kind of way, „but I think we gave it our best. We probably couldn’t have saved him anyway. Shit happens.“

“Shit happens?“ Sam repeated, outraged and looking like he saw a ghost. “Are you serious? A person died, Dean.“

Dean knew that. But people die every day. And every day more of them die. He couldn’t save all of them. Death is everywhere and he didn’t have anything to do with it. You can’t stop it. And one dead person more or less on his list and one more drop of blood on his hands didn’t change a thing about that. Also, he couldn’t bring himself to actually care about a person he hadn’t even known. Another one that got himself killed, despite the glorious promise of success of a Winchesters rescue. That was neither new, nor was it preventable. It was their curse. Everyone near them died sooner or later. Everyone but them. And if they did, they just happened to be resurrected from the dead in one way or another.

“You can thank me later,“ Dean went on ignoring everything they threw at him. “Cause actually, I know where this demon is.“

Both of them stared at him then, as if he had just spit out the most unrealistic pile of words anyone had ever said. And before Sam could ask, his sentence already on the tip of his tongue and his pointer finger in the air, as if he pleaded for a pause, Dean continued, not paying any attention to their stares, like he was the one-man-show nobody had ordered. 

“I just called Peter. You know, that weird guy we’ve met back in the Road House, when it wasn’t already, you know… burned to ashes. Anyway, I asked him for a favor, so he looked out for omens and all that stuff,“ he rendered, with small steps wandering about the room like a teacher during his lecture. “We can hit the road right away.“

“Even if you’re right,“ Sam gave back with clear doubt in his confused voice. “And that’s a big _if_ … how you gonna recognize the guy? It could be anybody.“

“Oh, I’m gonna recognize him.“

“And how _exactly_ are you gonna do that, Dean?“ Bobby asked after a quick glance over to Sam, who had shut his laptop and was all ears and no belief.

“Just trust me on this. I’m sure that me as a hunter is good enough. I recognize a son of a bitch, when I see one,“ Dean babbled, none of the others actually believing him, but not talking him out of it either. It sure was a shot in the dark and maybe even a little out of mind suicidal, but it also was more than they had gotten to in the past couple of days.

_______________________

_Somewhere in Murdo, South Dakota._

They had almost reached their destination. About half way there Dean had decided to listen to music. And when he had started singing along, very loud and not even good, a happy grin always following on his lips, Sam had thrown a meaningful look that said everything through the rearview and Bobby on the backseat had only shrugged. A mood this good after days of quiet isolation and denying to talk about just anything seemed weird to them, even for Dean. A bit of worry mixed into Sam’s thoughts and he wanted to ask, didn’t he know better. What was going on inside his brother’s head was for no one to really understand, but the egocentricity he suddenly displayed unsettled him for a moment anyway.

“What’s with the high spirits?“ Sam asked at some point, living to his urge and slightly amused, but he only got a side look that didn’t say anything. 

Dean really was in the best mood. Everything went like he wanted it to, feeling the upraising sensation of success that layered over the gall of his sickness like a soft and protecting shield. He still couldn’t eat, but he finally didn’t care anymore. He didn’t need food. And he didn’t need sleep. His genius functioned better than ever. He found himself fit and awake and hungry only for adventure and victory. He would kill something evil today and he would do good. Because nobody was as good as he was. Fight for the hell of it or fuck for the silent truth.

The tickling of danger almost made him nervous, pins and needles floated through his veins and stimuli thundered through his body like electricity and charged particles. Sometimes you just got to love it. Sometimes you just got to love how unsteady tension pours over your skin and moves across it like waves, every hair standing up and sweat running down your back, as if your body couldn’t handle it, while it actually handled it perfectly.

“Ok, we’re here,“ Dean announced happily when he brought the Impala to a stand and pulled the key out of the igniter. They found themselves on a parking lot in front of a grey concrete block that looked like a factory or a storage building. Probably old and clearly abandoned, or at least empty in this dark cold night of autumn. Sam and Bobby exchanged a sceptic look, but decided wordlessly not to ask questions. 

With a dull creak the older Winchester opened the trunk and handed over several knifes and weapons to the other two men. The most important tool was pulled out last, wrapped in a brown cloth of old leather, deerskin to be precise. Like the most valuable treasure he ever possessed he freed it carefully and slowly from its casing, holding it up in front of his face and eyeing for a moment how the moonlight sparkled on its blade and how the engravings graced and ennobled it. Almost like he was in love he was staring at it, with bright eyes and wide pupils that spoke death and killing. 

“So, listen,“ he found his voice, eventually averting his eyes from the weapon, as he put it into one of the inner pockets of his brown leather jacket with care and anticipation. “That’s how it’s gonna go down: Sam, you walk around the building to the back entrance and wait there, check out the situation and all that, you know how it’s done. Bobby, you come with me, but stay behind me. I go in first. The momentum of surprise is with us. I’m just gonna jump the guy and before he knows what’s happening, he’s gonna be dead already. Okay? Okay.“

“Dean, that’s suicide!“ Sam complained and Bobby seemed to be with him on it. The older one of the brothers only rolled his eyes and pushed past his younger with fast steps towards the entrance. Sam threw up his arms in desperation and disarray, giving a pleading look to Bobby, who again only shrugged. They hurried after Dean then, barely able to hold up, unable to stop him. Before Bobby could enter the building after Dean, he heard screams of pain and found two dead bodies in the doorway. Securities. Demons. A bit clumsily he stepped over them, his eyes searching for Dean, who already pushed through the next door. Determined and without any fear he rushed into a big hall, his knife tightly embraced in his hand, as if it was what his life depended on.

“That’s how we meet again,“ he threw into the room, his voice echoing through the corners like an echo in the mountains. The man in the middle raised his head, his eyes saying it all. He seemed hardly happy about his new guest, but ready for attacking. 

Bobby ran after Dean as fast as he could and on the other side of the hall Sam came in, too. But before their eyes could even get used to the diffuse light, they heard a falling body and exhausted rattle and fists crashing into flesh and bones. They hurried closer and found a man on the ground and Dean above him. His knife slit across the man’s throat, eyes black and Dean’s face mirroring inside them like the last picture he would see. 

As if rooted on the spot, they only stood there, watching Dean’s grin gradually getting wider and the lust in his eyes bigger. Something flamed up inside them, something strange, odd and unfamiliar. Something darker than every pupil. With a fast precise hit he stabbed the demon, the pointed knife boring itself through the throat, underneath the face and into the head. And when they thought the creature was dead, there was a bright light underneath the skin that called it dead. And when they thought it was over, Dean stabbed him once more. And when they thought he was just making sure, he pulled the knife out of the flesh, red and wetly drowned in blood that ran down his hand like rivers crossing the country. And he kept stabbing into the corpse. Over and over again, driving his knife into the man’s face. Into his empty eyes, his cheeks, cutting his nose and mouth and chin and everything that made a face, until in the end, when Dean finally decided it was enough, there was nothing left but a head with parts of skin and blood and open bones and flesh hanging down from it.

With his face covered in splashes of blood and particles of skin and flesh and with that darkness in his iris, he looked up to his companions, a satisfied smile on his lips and rest in his heart. The burden of failure finally gone and killed like the monster beneath him. He hadn’t done it for that civilian, he had done it for himself. Call it revenge for making him feel weak. And for once he withstood the urge of his gall, again stepping onto his tongue like it owned the place, because far too good was it all. Death had peace and peace had he.


	4. Chapter Four

# Chapter Four

_Humans are strong, but fear throws them down. Fear is strong, but sleep conquers it. Sleep is strong, but death is stronger._

_Day eight. Sioux Falls._

Dean’s forehead rested upon the slick and glossy wood of the old table that was already rather battered, scratches and burn marks covering its surface and the finish coming up at some spots. It felt so cold and pleasantly cooling against his heated skin. His face pulsed, his brain pounding against the skull, as if it was trying to escape, and sweat running down his hot feverish neck like snowmelt on magma, instantly steaming away, not cold enough to extinguish the fire within him. His arm was lying around his head, heavy and stiff and almost numb. His other hand was wrapped around a glass of whiskey that barely held more than a sip. His sworn life elixir and usual help for all the problems there were, but even alcohol couldn’t help him anymore. Not this time.

“You okay?“ a voice said behind him and, even when he didn’t have a hint of strength in him, he hurled up in panic, straightening himself in a far too fast motion. Dizziness swirled about in his eyes and he could literally feel the unsteady rhythm of his heartbeat inside his head, screaming at him, loud and rushing, hurting like never before. He had had head wounds before that hadn't been this unpleasant. His lids tried to blink away the lightheadedness, but failed widely. He felt as if he just woke up from a serious head trauma, like something had hit him in his brain. 

“Yeah,“ he breathed, “yeah, sure“

“You don’t look okay, though,“ Sam stated, still hovering behind him like he was some negative voice in the back of his head.

“Well, thank you very much,“ the older Winchester gave in a husky voice full of sarcasm, rubbing his palm over his sweaty and somewhat sticky face. 

A fake smirk tried to smile it all away. He just needed a bit of movement, a task, something to do to distract himself and keep him on track. Hunting away the pain, working off the sickness, and then he sure wouldn’t feel dizzy anymore, not like he would run off the rails. And just a bit of silence maybe. His veins seemed busy, but his heart like in waste. He felt like he was being polluted by a venom no one ever ingested him with. As if his teeth and lungs were covered with its foam. He felt voiceless and deaf and like he couldn’t feel a thing and at the same time all the things. All words seemed small and thin, as if he was outside or just not here, always trying to scratch it out, but never seeming to get close enough. Something clearly wasn’t right and it just got even less right day by day.

He emptied his glass and the bitter liquid that was usually so enlivening, but it didn’t do good now, only worse. He slightly shook his head, trying to shake away the sick feeling in his stomach, and once again wiped the sweat off his face that soaked all of his body. And for a moment, just a single brief instant really, he felt fresher and more awake, but then that pressure in his head returned and the heat on his forehead and the cold new sweat in his neck.

“You sure you’re okay? You’re pretty pale,“ Sam gave with that worried face of his and his brother suddenly wondered, why he didn’t just sit down. The tall Winchester stood beside him now, Dean looking up at him like he would be above him or something better, as if being healthy and all right suddenly made him the new boss in town and family. But maybe he was after all, for whatever was wrong with him, he wasn’t anywhere near well. He was so far from okay, that he wasn’t even sure he would ever be normal again. Something inside him actually wanted to talk about it for once. There was this tiny little urge that wanted him to tell someone. Just anyone. Just for the sake of talking about it. Because above all, carrying the weight of his wrongness alone and all by himself was so much worse. 

“I’m fine,“ he lied however, for the worst would be to make his brother worry even more. It wouldn’t help anything, let alone anyone. 

He got ready to stand up, practically steeling himself for it first, with both arms braced on the cold tabletop that suddenly seemed like slippery ice underneath his fingers. His legs were shaking with his weight on them and it surely looked like he was lifting tons instead of just his body. And he thought to himself, either he had gotten heavier or his muscles weaker. 

“Probably just the flu or something“

He made a step away from the table, as he finally managed to keep his balance, but his knees got mellow and caved in under him. His eyes rolled into their holes and his lids sank, as he lost balance again, just like his conscious, crashing onto the dusty floor undamped. He was done. Someone had to get him oxygen, for he seemed unable to. And something wished he would be seen. Something within him wanted that there would be help, whatever that something was. Even when he was weak and beaten down, he seemed to disappear in the ground, his body heavy and like a stone that threatened to break in and through the floorboards, like an animal on thin ice. 

It was as if something ghosted inside him, very close, but he still couldn’t see it. As if he was inside out, as if it was underneath. It was tangled and he couldn't quite grasp it and he desperately wanted it to stop. He just wished somebody would take it out of him. And then he felt a flat large hand slapping his cheeks, making him slowly come back to life. His eyes blinked open, the sight blurry and senseless. He recognized Sam’s worried face above him and tried to say something, but his throat was dry and his voice failed. Gall rose up inside him like a daily reminder and darkness settled back upon him.

The younger Winchester held his brother’s head in both hands, his brows knitted in a concerned and helpless expression. For dear life he wanted to help his brother, but Dean had been so stubborn and refusing and lying about his condition, though he seemed to get worse every day, Sam didn't know what he was supposed to do. So he did the only thing he could do just then and shoved both his arms underneath the weary and unconscious body before him, one by the hollows of his knees and the other by his shoulders, and lifted him with his head and one arm lifelessly hanging down. He felt the heavy additional weight on his feet and arms, but didn't let himself buckle under it. He carefully carried him to one of the bedrooms and put him to bed, tucking him in and having another concerned look at him. He ran a hand over his own face in despair, but felt like rest was probably a good start.

Half-aware Dean felt that he was put into a warm bed that lay under him so soft and so protecting. But the day still felt cold around his shaking body and cards seemed to be dealt out. He was screwed, he knew that. His blood ran flat and stale and his body was tired and exhausted. Something within him wanted to secret, something wanted to shelter, but with that beast inside him there seemed to be no space to hide, for how was he supposed to pretend to be just fine any longer. And he felt the heat and was sure, if someone looked him in the eyes, they would recognize it inside them. Like night it fell in and overwhelmed and covered everything, and nobody should come too close, for he was stark sure something that was able to harm him that much couldn't be good. At some point it would reveal itself and what it was and harm everyone near him as well. 

Like a falling curtain unconsciousness crashed upon him to cover once again what was going on. The last call before the lights go out. And his memories crawled back into his head, with sharp teeth and long claws they scratched until it bled. As if they were shoveling his grave and as if it was enough of masquerade, as if it would make him a mess and damage all within him. Woven into his soul, with no escape. He was strong, but fear and horror spread out inside him like water in a river bed. Not even sleep could overcome it. Because he was strong, but it was stronger.

Dean was passed out on his bed and for that didn't notice another figure stepping into the quiet room. A person he hadn't seen in a long time stood beside his bed, his eyes looking down at him for a moment, before he let out a deep sigh, tilting his head and pulling the blanket over the Winchester just a little more. He hadn't been there for him much lately, barely even spoke to him, but even with the pale and weak appearance in front of him, Dean still made him feel like he was the closest to a family he had. He fumbled about his blue tie, pulled up a chair from one of the corners of the room and sat down. He reached out and put a finger on the Winchester’s forehead, closing his eyes and trying to find out what was happening to his friend.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So even when it weren't many yet, I'm very thankful for everyone who had a look at and read my story. I would love to get some reviews, comments, notes or whatever you feel like telling me, but don't you feel pressured ;D
> 
> By the way: for those who want to read the German version of this story...  
> https://www.fanfiktion.de/s/5cb0aa470001d445f9a2746/1/Stranglehold
> 
> Next: find out who the visitor is and how Dean's condition goes on developing.


	5. Chapter Five

# Chapter Five

_Power buries him, who handles it._

_Day nine. Sioux Falls._

“How you feeling?“ Bobby asked, observing him ever since he had entered the room. He stood beside the chair that had been pulled up to the bed yesterday, settling a hand on its backrest and crossing his legs in a casual way. 

“Stop asking me how I feel,“ Dean gave back, angrily annoyed, but in not more than a mere whisper. “I’m fine.“ 

Even when he lied skillfully, as if he had never done anything else, it had been enough questions. He felt like a prisoner under instant custody and observation, and he could tell that no one ever believed him. He could tell that they were worrying their brains out. But he knew he was strong and whatever it was that tried to break his back and poison his mind, he was almost a bit sure he would come over it. They kept looking at him like something was seriously wrong with him. But he didn’t need their affirmation to know that. He already did.

He reached out for his glass, feeling his hand shiver, then hesitated for a moment, then made it a fist and decided against it. A careful glance flew over to the other, trying to find out, if Bobby had seen that. But his surrogate father, who had kept his eyes on him for almost every single minute during the past couple of days, seemed distracted this time, looking out of the window and apparently catching sight of something. Lucky for him. 

A tiny smile for a tinier victory of hiding himself successfully once again slid over his lips, before it broke back into emptiness, when he finally remembered that there was nothing to smile about. His hands didn’t seem to be his anymore. Like foreign objects that didn’t belong to him. Every order his brain sent towards them seemed to reach them differently than he had planned, as if the connection to his head was broken or wrongly put. Something inside him felt the urge to get rid of them. He knew they were his hands, but something made him believe they were not. Not really. They felt cold and numb and like the hands of someone else. As if he had had a cast or a band-aid or something likewise on his hands for weeks and couldn't wait for it to be taken off, wanting it removed badly.

When Bobby had seemed like he had given up on trying to get him to talk and went back out of the room, it got quiet around Dean. He sat up in his bed and stared at his feet again. Shaky and barely able to carry him. And they, too, didn’t do like they should anymore. His eyes searched for his strange hands again. He had them his entire life and still he swore they didn’t look like his own anymore. His lids closed and he once again realized that something wasn’t right, but he shook it off and felt silly. 

When he opened them again, he tried to grab for his glass once more. Dean needed alcohol. It was the only constant that felt right. And after a sip that burned down his rough throat like fire on ice, he gave in to the urge and scratched the itching feeling at his sore neck, trying to get inside and close enough to where seemed to be the source. Digging and digging and fingering through the blood and trying to get deeper. But the more he tried, the farer away it seemed to move. So, eventually, he gave up, as the burning pain of open flesh got too much to ignore.

Again he looked at his fingers. The blood under his nails already dried and old and now colored anew. He pushed the heavy breath out of his lungs he had been holding, as he realized that he had reopened the wound again. He just couldn’t resist. The urge too big, his will too little.

Meanwhile Bobby stepped out onto the yard to what he had seen through the window. He stood beside his new guest, who had arrived here just yesterday. The man stood, stiff and silent, staring out across the wide field behind Bobby’s house. The dust of the ground had colored his black shoes in a brownish beige color, but he didn't seem to care much about that fact. His hands were buried in the pockets of his trench coat that appeared to be far too much of clothing for such a hot sunny day of autumn in South Dakota. Then again, he was an angel, Singer thought, he wouldn't mind the heat now, would he?

“What are you staring at?“ the old man asked.

“The mere beauty of God’s creation.“ The angel answered in his usual calm tone, ignoring the fact that it was more of a rhetoric question, or just not getting it. 

“Dean’s awake, ya know?“ Bobby stated, turning his eyes away from the large mass of grass and weeds and orange and yellow painted trees in the back of that field and looking at his friend. 

“I do know.“ Castiel replied and looked back at him, searching the face of the human precisely for any other hidden questions or statements. Finding them all. 

“You ain’t gonna talk to him?“

Castiel considered for a moment, slightly squinting his eyes, as if the sun was blinding him, moving his glance back to the field and saying nothing at all.

“So?“ the hunter next to him urged again after a while, in which he had been waiting for a reply in no avail. 

“I will.“ Castiel simply answered. Bobby only raised his brows in doubt, sensing that something was going on inside his friend. Castiel was hard to understand sometimes, let alone to read, for he wasn't only very introverted, but also not human. He didn't show his emotions on the outside like any person would, some more, some less, he would just stare and stand still and keep quiet, like a stone-made statue man or like he wouldn't feel anything at all.

“What’s that going on in that little angelic head of yours?“ he asked then, tapping a finger to his temple, even when the angel didn't look at him enough to see it. Castiel faced him then and frowned in some sort of amazement or maybe confusion.

He looked to the ground and cleared his throat, then saying, “I don’t know what to tell him.“

“What ya mean?“

“I mean… I’m not able to heal him. I can’t, and I don’t know why that is. What do I tell him?“

“What makes ya think he’s gonna ask about that?“ the hunter replied, sensing the other’s insecurity that seemed odd for a powerful creature like him. Then again, Castiel had always acted strange around Dean.

“It’s Dean. He _will_ ask me to heal him.“

“Sure… just tell him you don’t know. That’s the truth, ain’t it?“

“Yes.“ The Angel forced a little convincing smile onto his lips then.

“There’s one more thing,“ Bobby said after quite a while of silence, his look lowered to the ground. 

“What is it?“

“Well… we’ve been on a hunt some four days ago, down in Murdo. Dean wanted to go after that demon, said he’s tracked him down, so we thought to heck with it, let’s do it. What’s one demon against three of us, right?“

Castiel frowned, listening closely to what the man was saying, sensing something bad would follow and seeing it in those eyes that wandered all over the place, but clearly avoiding his own.

“Well,“ Bobby began to talk again, after several deep breaths of uneasiness. “That boy sure got the demon good, but… the way he did…“

“What about it?“ the angel asked calmly.

“He uh… he downright minced that one’s face, sliced it all up like ground meat,“ Bobby said quietly, his voice shaking a little. Cas remained silent for a moment, considering, appearing as if he was trying to imagine what it must have looked like. 

After several minutes in which none of the men spoke a word, Castiel said, “That is, in fact, very concerning.“

“Damn right,“ Bobby said, moving a hand across his face, glancing towards his house, in which was the man who had done that piece of cruelty he still couldn’t manage to shake off his conscious. The picture of it had burned itself into his mind and creeped him out like nothing ever had, for it was Dean they were talking about, the son he never had. 

They both walked off back into the house then. Inside, in Bobby’s study, they found Dean up on his feet, though somewhat crouched and bracing against the doorframe to the kitchen, holding his stomach and his face an expression of pain and sickness. 

When Dean heard steps on the dusty wooden floor, his eyes glanced up and found them. The torment disappeared from his face and got replaced by sheer bafflement. Several moments he just stared at Castiel, not really paying any attention to his surrogate father, fixing and capturing the angel’s eyes in an intense and meaningful exchange of looks. 

“What…,“ Dean started, but trailed off, as he didn't find the words to form an actual question. 

“Hello, Dean.“ Castiel only said, as if they had met only a few days ago and not weeks and months. “How are you feeling?“

The Winchester frowned and looked down at himself, as if to make clear with it how he obviously wasn't well, still bended over a little and still holding his torso and bracing himself against the doorframe. “Well,“ he said with irritation in his eyes, “obviously like hell.“

Castiel nodded and lowered his eyes then, a creeping tiny smile on his lips, for he had missed the sarcastic tone and the foul-mouthed way the other man always spoke. He slowly stepped over to the Winchester, moved an arm behind his back and under the other’s arm, allowing him to brace his weight onto him and walking Dean across the room and over to the sofa by the window near the desk. He helped him sit down and for a brief instant settled a consoling hand upon his shoulder. 

Bobby sat down at his desk, while Castiel was leaned against it, and they talked for a while about since when the angel was here and why and about Dean’s condition, Castiel at some point somewhat shyly admitting that, despite he had tried hard, he hadn't been able to heal him. 

“I’m sorry Dean.“ Castiel had said with honest guilt swinging in his voice and not daring to look back at the Winchester. 

But Dean understood, for Cas sure was a heavenly entity with powers so mighty he couldn't even really imagine just what his friend was actually capable of, but understanding that Castiel was also just a person, and not God.

They settled in then and turned to chatting about this and that, as at some time they fell quiet, Bobby concentrating on some old book from his shelf, Castiel reading in another at the table in the opposite corner and Dean making himself comfortable enough on that sofa, while the other two were desperately trying to find out what was wrong with him, even when Dean highly doubted they would.

After a while the Winchester lifted his head and looked over to Bobby, supposing him to still be reading, but finding the elder hunter looking back at him. His eyes seemed confused and maybe even somehow panicky, but Dean didn’t understand why. He eyeballed him intensely, trying to figure out what was going on and trying to make sense of it and notice something in the face of the other that would explain it to him. But there was nothing and for a moment he tried to remember what they had been talking about. But then it came to him - they hadn’t been talking at all. And then he saw Bobby’s lips mouthing words, but he couldn’t hear them. He knitted his brows, as if he would try to see language, and for a minute he thought he was being teased. But Bobby’s mouth kept on moving, again and again, but he couldn’t hear a thing.

“What?“ he whispered more to himself than to the man, his heart pounding inside his chest, as he felt panic and horror overwhelming all of his body. Something was wrong. Something was very very wrong. The panic in his ribcage gave him what felt like fever, rolling and crawling up his throat, killing his ability to breathe properly. And then a shrill whistling noise began to echo in his ears, barely bearable and almost painful. He wanted to cover his ears, but suddenly knew it wouldn’t help against something that came from the inside. Sharp and numbing and getting louder and louder. His eyes cringed closed and his hands lay over his ears anyway, like he was scared it was so loud that people outside his head could hear it as well. And then it stopped all of a sudden and out of nowhere and for no apparent reason. 

“Dean,“ Bobby said again and finally he could hear it.

“What?“ Dean barely even whispered, finally being able to speak properly. His eyes wide and unsure and his heart trying hard to calm down. 

“What’s going on? You all right?“

“I.. yeah, I…,“ Dean stammered. “There was just this… noise in my ear“

“What noise?“

“Dunno, it… you know what, never mind, it was nothing,“ Dean gave back, his eyes searching the floor, as if he hoped to find all the answers there. And when he looked over to Castiel, he found the angel staring at him with all the worry he had to offer. 

______________________

_Later that same day:_

Dean was sitting on his favorite wrack and treated himself to a cold beer. The day was warmer than the usual autumn day and the sun had been glowing at the cloudless sky the entire day, illuminating the colorful leaves of the trees. Again he stared out over the wide field, at its horizon the sundown dipping the sky into a deep red and orange color, like a fireball crashing to earth. Usually he barely ever had time to watch something so beautiful and amazing, so he enjoyed it like that fireball was a meteor and this was his last day on this planet. It had peace and happiness and for a moment made him forget about all his problems.

“Hey,“ Sam said, as he sank down beside him upon the old rusty car. He thankfully took the bottle of beer his older brother offered him and stared into the distance just alike. Sam had spent the entire day browsing the internet for similar cases and lore that would match his brother’s condition, though hadn't found anything. His head was aching and he felt exhausted into deep down to his bones, but didn't allow nor dare to give up just yet, for the constant worry and sheer anxiety for the only real family he had left was so overwhelming, his own needs weren't even near as important right now.

“How you feeling?“ he asked and Dean closed his eyes for the constantly repeated question he couldn’t bear anymore. A quiet sigh pushed out of his nose, when he decided to ignore the rising anger over it.

“I’m fine,“ he answered with monotony attached to his voice and almost not lying. “I’m just thinking.“

“About what?“

“About that guy we failed to save.“ Dean gave back. “I mean, we didn’t really know him, but for some reason I just can’t help but think about him. Can’t let go.“ With that one corner of his mouth went up in a tormented and burdened half-smile. In moments like this one right now that he felt sort of okay, meaning he didn't feel like he was about to pass out or throw up, he allowed his thoughts to trail off to things other than his sickness and they always ended up in that disastrous night nine days ago.

Sam nodded wordlessly and sipped on his bottle. The older one gave him a side look, almost regretting what he had said. He considered how bad he had just ridden himself into the mud of more questions and more worry. Confessing a feeling, no matter what feeling it was, to another person had always seemed to him like he gave them a pointed stick and the allowance to dig even deeper into him. They never stop once you get them started. 

“You know,“ Sam said after several minutes of uncomfortable silence. “I’ve been doing a little research, cause… you know, he could’ve had wife and kids we should tell“

“And?“

“Well, he didn’t. He was single. Small apartment in the city. He was a lawyer. Counsel for the defense, actually. Seems like he was a really good guy. His name was Cane, by the way.“

Dean averted his eyes from the starting sundown, as if he suddenly didn’t deserve it anymore, and stared down at his hands wrapped around the cold bottle like truth and blame. One reason he didn’t truthfully answer questions about how he was feeling lately was that he didn’t actually know how he felt about some things. One day he didn’t care, the next day he felt like the biggest failure. There were moments he felt like himself and blamed himself and then in other moments he didn’t feel anything. And then there were moments he even felt like someone else entirely. He closed his eyes, trying not to hate himself too much.

“Dean“

He looked up at his brother, who probably attempted to say something comforting and encouraging, but he didn’t want to hear all that. He didn’t know, if he didn’t want to hear it, because he didn’t care, or because he cared too much. And when he saw the worried face in front of him, something felt wrong once again. An unknown pressure broke into his eyeholes and no matter how hard he tried to blink it away, it only got stronger and stronger. And then his sight became weird and blurry and dark shadows snaked inside his picture like black smoke and suddenly it was all dark and dull and he couldn’t see a thing. 

He could only imagine that his brother was hearteningly smiling, for Sam didn’t actually know that Dean’s eyes were completely empty. For he didn’t know that Dean’s senses were leaving him, each day a little more. Because some kind of force within him seemed to layer over him, wrapping him up and making him lose his mind and body, like dreary clouds or evil shadows, burying it all. Everything that made him Dean Winchester.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Special thanks to those who read this and to whoever it was that left me kudos :) I hope some comments will be left, for only critics and comments make the author motor keep going ^^
> 
> Next: How will Dean's condition develop, how are the others coping with it and will they find out anything?


	6. Chapter Six

# Chapter Six

_The evil drive is thin like strands at first, but soon becomes strong like tightropes._

_Day twelve. Sioux Falls._

“Write that down,“ Sam ordered, his nose deep inside a thick worn-out book of former times. They were documenting and researching some practices and rituals, mostly magic spells, in hope any of them would be capable to reveal what was the matter with Dean, as well as some that could probably rid him of whatever it was that caused his condition. 

Even when Dean was happy to be kept busy, he couldn’t be more bored. It was one of the less exciting parts of being a hunter. Researching, informing yourself. Things enthusing Sam much more than him.

“You got that?“ Sam urged, looking up in a rebuking stare and seeing that his brother just blankly glanced at the pages of his notebook he was supposed to write into. 

Dean was trying very hard to keep hold of his pen, as if it was the hardest thing to do, but his shaking hand worked against him. He eyeballed his writing and was hardly able to read it himself, scribbled smearing it was at most. Though he wasn't quite sure whether it was for the difficulty to lead a strange hand to write words, or for his eyes barely even bearing the light, blinding him like he was looking into a supernova. Shrill and burning it bore into his pupils, making him wish he could be in the dark. 

His free hand lay over his face and eyes and for a moment it was a little better, even when he knew that the light was still there, lurking and only waiting for causing him bright bolts inside his sight, and that it would get worse, when he would open his lids again. Just for this one minute it was like everything was okay. His hand didn't shake, while it was resting on something, and his eyes didn't fail him, while they were closed. Eyes closed and resting muscles and no movement at all. Sadly, it had become his favorite activity.

“Dean“

He felt broken and all alone and paid with his mind and ability to be normal and to do the easiest and most random things. Something within him was making noise and interrupting and he tried hard not to think about it. But how do you stop thinking about something that’s inside your mind, invading your thoughts and conscious? That was like trying not to see things right in front of you. Every day he prayed it would be an easier one, begged it would all finally make sense. And every day he tried to remember, tried to reconstruct what had happened, tried to understand. Imagining he was back in that old sad room and would trace back his steps and where he had begun to change. But people don’t just change like time does. Not by themselves. And he felt sweaty and sticky like the doorknob of the front door, wishing he knew how to let go of it. He had no idea how he was supposed to breathe with all this around him and inside. 

“DEAN!“

He startled out of his trance and sickness overwhelmed him once again, but he had become good at suppressing it. His eyes moved around, not grasping onto anything, searching for the source of sound. They finally got hold to his brother’s face and saw all the confusion and maybe a bit of annoyance inside it. 

“What?!“ he gasped confusedly. For a minute he had to ponder about where he was, and as he let his glance fly through the familiar room again and found back to his younger brother, like a weird déjà vu, and also the scribbling in the notebook in his lap, he remembered. He looked at the pen in his hand that wasn’t shivering anymore, tightly clenched until the knuckles of his fist came out in white and red and began to ache like a cramp. 

Just then he heard something that was no voice. A howl and hissing and it forced cold sweat onto his forehead and temples, goosebumps spreading on his surface. His eyes flew around wildly and his mouth opened, barely fast enough to breathe all the air for all the building panic.

“Did you hear that?“ Sam looked at him like he was crazy. 

“No?“ hardly more question than answer. “What?“

“There was this… sound,“ Dean said, his eyes still searching everything, as if the source was here in this room. “It sounded like a… like a howl“

Sam’s brows built deep cracks and worry spread within him. Dean’s unsteadiness transferred to him and for a second he wondered if he should go get Bobby and Castiel. He knew hearing howling no one else could hear was never a good sign. He had witnessed it so often by now he didn’t even have to think twice about the possible meaning.

“You mean like… the howl of a hell hound?“

Dean’s glance moved to his brother, as if that thought was completely and entirely new. Though, there was more questioning reproval than worry mirroring in Sam’s eyes. He had gone down that road before and it hadn’t ended too well. Even when he tended to make some mistakes more than twice, he didn't intend to make this particular one again. And he couldn’t help but feel a little offended.

“I didn’t make a deal,“ he swore with slight anger swinging in his shaking voice, his heart beating the rhythm of wrong remorse. It is weird how you can feel guilty, even when you know that you haven’t done anything wrong. He was just about to start discussing, but then saw something outside the windows, hushing past the house in the dark star-filled yet clouded night. A dark shadow moving outside the window so fast he couldn't really make out the shape of it. For a moment he shied away, but then something inside him demanded to look and find out. He had to go outside. He just had to go outside and hunt it, whatever it was.

He jumped out of his chair like a dog that wants to play and ran out of the house, the dull shouts of his brother in the back of his head like silent echoes. And he ran. He ran faster and faster, across the big square full of old metal, in between all the rust-killed cars and onto the wide field he usually only stared at from just these cars. The night was cold and the wind whipped into his face as well as the rain that streamed over his skin like a shower. He didn’t feel the coldness. He didn’t feel anything at all, save for his heart trying to cope with the sudden stress and struggle and his muscles tense and exhausted and his mind forcing him to go on, no matter what. The high grass and weeds rustled underneath his heavy boots, mixing up with the sound of his breath going in and out of his lungs. 

And then suddenly, he stopped. Around him only the wet dark green grass and mere nothingness. Darkness. And he pondered. About everything and himself. Wondered why he was here. Why he had been running like that, what had made him. And while he was still forming his thoughts, it was like something would enter his head and steal them. And then he wondered, if this something also gave thoughts and not only took them. Not safe in his own mind anymore, unsureness in his lungs, pushing and stolen and manipulated. And not even sure if so. Something felt strong inside him, but it wasn’t himself.

_________________

It was a little later that night, when Dean heard steps in the hallway on the creaking floorboards of Bobby’s old house. He could feel someone was coming his way and stiffened in the bed he was sitting upon. He considered who it was more possible to be, Sam or Bobby, discovering after a minute of tense waiting that it was someone else entirely. The angel he called his best friend entered the room, wearing his usual outfit and face, concerned but trying to look calm. 

“Hello, Dean.“ He said, after a moment sitting down on that chair by the bed the way he had done a couple of days ago after his arrival, when Dean was fast asleep, or rather passed out with fever and exhaustion. 

“Hey,“ the Winchester muttered, his eyes lowered and playing with his hands like a shy teenager that was about to get a speech from his parent. 

They remained silent for several long minutes, while Castiel was considering how to start the conversation and Dean was hoping he really wouldn't at all. Then the angel cleared his throat and said, “Sam told me about earlier.“ It was a mere statement, but for Dean it felt like an accusation, making him feel ashamed of himself even more. He didn't answer anything.

Cas sighed, then saying, “Why were you running outside, Dean?“ Coming out with what exactly he thought, for the angel lacked in polite tactfulness as much as he lacked a human bladder. 

“I don’t know,“ Dean only whispered. He felt attacked by the angel’s intense stares, naked to his observation and embarrassed by his own actions. 

“I think you do.“ Castiel disagreed bluntly, tilting his head like a puppy trying to understand human language, his eyes almost piercing through the Winchester’s skin like a pointed blade. 

“I just… heard that noise outside and thought I’ll have a look what it was,“ Dean said quietly, still avoiding to look back at his friend. He felt pressured and hassled and wanted to get out badly, then covering his eyes with his hands once again, for even the dull light of the old lightbulb hanging from the ceiling was somewhat blinding him and the ache inside his head punched him from within and his body started shaking again.

“What’s the matter?“ Castiel asked softly, when noticing the change of the other man’s state of feeling, putting a hand to Dean’s wrist and trying to uncover his face. The Winchester fought back and didn't let him, curling up upon the bed and crouching, while the quiver overwhelming his entire body got more visible. 

“Dean,“ Cas tried again. “You need to tell me what’s going on.“ But the other didn't react, fallen into a dizzy trance and refusing to be helped. “Dean, I…,“ but the angel trailed off, considering for a moment, then settling a finger on Dean’s temple and closing his own eyes. His force entered the hunter’s head and scanned all the corners of his mind, finding nothing that would cause such a condition, but a lot to worry about. 

Dean’s mind was a sheer chaos of emotions and thoughts and wrong wiring and disconnected synapses, no wonder he didn't function properly anymore. And as the angel looked into it with his internal eyes, he found that it looked like a wild forest with ropes and strings crossing it and flashes of light and darkness filled with smoke and clouds and mere despair, confusion and disarray. It was like a thunder storm was raging within this head, bolting and thundering and burning all to ashes and fire and breaking him apart. 

The angel released a quiet sigh and concentrated harder, pushing his angelic power into the mind of his friend and trying to put as much back into order as possible. However, every time he reconnected strings or soothed afflicted nerves they only broke back apart, as if an invisible foreign force was fighting against the healing. So when he eventually gave up then, he left Dean’s mind with at least mending his uneasiness and shaking, not solving the problem, but allowing the hunter to feel a little better. 

“We need to find out what’s going on,“ he muttered more to himself than to Dean, standing up to let the Winchester rest for a while. “Quickly.“ Castiel added, knowing this condition could only get worse and probably even destroy Dean Winchester entirely. Maybe even kill him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to Fledhyris for leaving kudos :)  
> I'd love some comments by the way, just tell me what you think :)
> 
> Next: The Winchesters, Bobby and Castiel try some spells to handle the situation, plus we find out some more about Cane, the civilian they hadn't been able to save.


	7. Chapter Seven

# Chapter Seven

_The human’s evil drive renews itself everyday.  
(Torah, Talmud Bavli Sukka 52)_

_Day fourteen. Still Sioux Falls._

Dean stared at the bottle in front of him, the liquor in it brown and clear and sparkling in the light of the lamp above him. The label worn-out and probably just as old as its content. In his hands an empty glass. The mere inactively sitting around and doing nothing during the past couple of days slowly started to get to him. Without any aim and without any task it all seemed so senseless to him. _Drink_. He let go of his glass and looked at his hands, like he did often these days. Cold and shaking and wrong. And the thoughts in his head empty and dull. He tried to get them out, as if they were foreign. _Drink it_. But he withstood the urge. Again he stared at that bottle, now lying cold and heavy in one of his hands, and silly enough it felt like his best friend in a way. _Drink it_. Moments passed, but he didn’t want to listen to himself. For he didn’t feel like he actually was himself. He wasn’t sure whether or not it was him talking, not sure if those were his original thoughts that he was hearing. 

So he decided to wait until it was over. He put the bottle away and folded his hands in his lap, as if he was scared they would develop a life of their own, when they were too close to their temptation. At some point his head and the voice stuck within it might stop talking to him, he thought. Maybe if he just ignored them, they would give up trying to persuade him, seduce him into doing something he really didn't want to. Though, in this particular moment, he didn’t actually feel strong enough. 

Then, after several minutes of withstanding, he finally gave in and toed in the line, as he couldn't take it any longer, the urge in his head too big to cope with. He quickly grabbed for the half empty bottle and swallowed its bitter content off the reel, the comforting effect flaming inside his chest like a bonfire. His lids became heavy and weary and his body felt warm and cozy. But he wouldn’t sleep anyway.

That was when Sam came in, eyeing him for a moment. The younger one wanted to say something, but kept it to himself. He could barely even bear the sight of his brother, being so weak and depressed, just sitting around and getting drunk all day. He knew something was far from right here, but finding out what had turned out to be harder than they had thought. His glance became soft and understanding then and Dean could feel it, even without looking.

“So,“ Sam began, when he sat down on a chair opposite to the couch like a therapist, who didn’t understand anything and thought to understand it all. “I just read the newspaper.“

Dean found that particular piece of information just as important as a rat’s ass or the state of humidity in Eastern Europe, but suppressed the annoyance caused by it. He didn’t lift his head, though, his eyes still fixed on the empty bottle in his shaking hand. And then he wondered who else had had this very bottle in their hands during its short life. He wondered, who had made the whiskey and who had bottled it and who had put the label on it. He wondered, if anyone he knew ever had held this bottle in his hands, and if the hands of this someone had been shaking just like his.

“Dean“

Sam desperately tried to get his attention, but he failed wildly. Dean felt like he was in his own universe and like being invisible. It was as if he had a bubble around him that separated him from the rest of the world and all he would see and all he would hear, if only that bubble wasn’t there. He was a single sealed off person in a single sealed off world inside the actual world, where no one existed except for him and his thoughts and the voice and the voice’s thoughts. And he wondered again. How long would it take the alcohol to leave his blood and how long until it would kill him? And how long would it take, until there would be snow outside, how long until the first snowflake, how long until his boots would wander across the cold ground, the snow cover scrunching underneath them like teeth on jaws? How long until his breath would freeze in the air and be visible for everyone and himself, as if it wasn’t there otherwise? 

“DEAN!“ Sam tried once more and a little louder. Finally his brother looked up, his eyes empty and cold and miserable. 

“What?“ Dean almost whispered. He snapped out of his trance and could swear he could see that bubble popping and vanishing, and the outside world becoming part of his world again. Currently this happened often and it always felt like he was freed. But it also always felt like a bad thing. 

“I read the newspaper,“ Sam repeated. 

“Thanks for the newsflash,“ Dean snapped back sarcastically, almost startled by the fake smile that forced itself onto his dry and rough lips. It had used to come over him so naturally, but now it just seemed like a bad habit. Sam on the other hand flashed him a pejorative look for that, as if he didn’t understand the joke.

“There was an article about Cane in it.“

“Who?“

“Cane,“ he repeated and Dean had the feeling he was supposed to know that name. He searched his memories, blindly staring at the air, his pupils flying to and fro, as if he was browsing in invisible files. And then it came back to him. Cane. Civilian. Dead. Burned in the field behind the house. _Who cares_ , he heard himself say inside his head, however had the feeling not to think that way. 

“What about him?“ he asked after clearing his throat uneasily, trying to hide away the shame in his face.

“Apparently,“ Sam said, then made one of his typical dramatic pauses that no one actually needed, “he wasn’t the good guy we thought he was, after all“

Dean tilted his head, stared at his brother and didn’t see him anyway. Still pondering about if he even ever thought about Cane at all. He had just known the version of him that his mind had created for him. And then he wondered, whether Cane had ever drunk whiskey and if he had even ever drunk at all. And if Cane had ever possessed this very bottle in his hands. He still clenched to it tightly like it was a sheet anchor, at first cold in his even colder hand and now warm and sweat-covered and useless like a tightrope without hold. 

“Dean?“ his brother woke him, still waiting for an answer he hadn’t gotten yet. 

“Yeah…,“ Dean aspirated, lowering his eyes to the ground, “… and?“

“Well, basically Cane was a criminal,“ the younger Winchester continued, unchallenged by the fact that he seemed to have this conversation by himself. “Apart from being a lawyer he was also a broker at some big company.“

“Let me guess… he pulled a fast one on some people“

“No. He set up parties, where prostitutes were tortured and murdered.“ Sam said, as if that wasn’t a horrible thing to do. 

Torture. Torture was one of the worst things. And Dean knew that all too well. Nevertheless, he wasn’t even interested in that new information half as much as he thought he would be. It didn’t make him feel sorry and disgusted the way it should. No, it made him feel a tickle in his chest, excited nervousness. No panic, no guilt, no memories from hell popping up in his mind, only something within him that liked it. _It’s fun_. And for a brief instant he thought to hear someone talk who wasn’t there. Not like the voice he had almost gotten used to that always sounded much like himself. The voice had changed to another one that didn't sound a bit like his own. He looked around in confusion, but couldn’t find anyone but his brother. He wasn’t sure where it had come from, the outside world or his head. He gave his brother a stare then that was searching for hints whether he had heard it, too, but couldn’t find any and shook it off. 

“Did you hear what I just said?“

“Yeah, uh…,“ Dean stammered, the sweat on his forehead beginning to glisten. “…that’s horrible.“

Dean felt like he was lying, no matter how certain or uncertain he was that this was his actual opinion. It was as if he would disagree with himself. Whatever it was, he tried to get rid of it, tried to go on breathing, as if he didn’t have something inside his head that tried to force him to change. And he worked hard to remember when he had last felt normal. Strong and healthy and without any gall or the taste of it on his tongue. No voice in his head that demanded what he didn’t want to follow. And every day he swore to be his old self, and every day he failed anew. And every day he realized, that he would fail again. 

____________________

_Later that day, around 9 PM:_

Dean stumbled downstairs, bracing himself along the wall with one hand and the other holding onto the railing. It was when he was about to enter Bobby’s office that he heard the voice of his brother. He leaned against the wall next to the doorframe, listening for a moment.

“It could help, though,“ Sam said.

“What if it ain’t? What then?“ his surrogate father replied with clear doubt in his voice. There was a piercing uneasy silence then, when after a couple of minutes the angel in the room spoke up.

“We should at least try.“

“Try what?“ Dean asked with a husky voice, as he entered the room, more staggering than walking. The three turned to staring at him, as if he wasn't supposed to be here, although, last time he had checked, he was still - currently - residing in this house and not condemned to stay in his room, as if he was grounded or anything. 

His brother cleared his throat then, answering, “A Revealing Spell“

“A what?“ the older of the brothers gave, falling down into a chair at Bobby’s desk and relieving an exhausted sigh, for coming down here hadn't been half as easy as he had thought. All his body was aching like he had a bruise covering his entire surface of skin that reached down to his bones and innards. 

“A Revealing Spell,“ Sam repeated. “It’s a magic spell to reveal things.“

Dean frowned up at his brother, for that was the silliest explanation of anything he had ever heard. 

“What, are we in Harry Potter now?“ he gave with a snort of amusement.

“No. Actually, it’s ancient Wiccan magic.“ Sam said with sheer approval and even a little proudness in his voice and face. “It helps to reveal the truth about any situation.“

Dean’s eyes moved over to Bobby, who was clearly skeptical, and then to Castiel, who seemed to be agreeing exceptionally, his arms folded in front of his body and his face a contented smile of anticipation and hope. Obviously it was two against one, and Dean didn't seem to have a vote here. 

“Okay, so if we do that spell… big _if_ here…,“ with that he threw his younger brother the most doubtful glance, “what do we need for it?“

“Well, basically only a purple spell candle and a lapis lazuli gemstone.“ Sam answered, having another checking look at the spell text of the book upon the desk.

“A lapis what?“ Dean gave, running a hand over his eyes, for they felt tired even with just thinking things. 

“A lapis lazuli,“ Bobby responded. “Should have that somewhere here.“

The older Winchester looked at him in surprise, his eyebrows lifted and the corners of his mouth pulled down to his chin, Bobby then adding, “What? I got lots of stuff“

“Okay then. Bring it on.“ Dean said, still finding it stupid, but giving up, for he wasn't in the mood to discuss his brother out of what he seemed to be determined to do. Even if it sure wouldn't help him, maybe it would help Sam to cope. 

About half an hour later they were all positioned in the living room and ready to perform the Revealing Spell, the objects needed already gathered together, in case of the lapis lazuli gemstone even cleansed by having been soaked in water with a pinch of rock-salt. Castiel was standing in one of the shadowy corners, as well as Bobby, the two of them only watching, as the brothers prepared the spell. 

Dean sat on the ground in the center of the room, legs crossed and his face the expression of a little boy that was made to play Bridge with his grandma. Sam stood in front of him, after he had placed the purple spell candle in front of his older brother on the floor, as well as a lighter and the gemstone, the spell book in his hands and reading the instructions once more.

“Okay, so first you need to center and ground yourself.“ Sam said to his brother, who raised an eyebrow at him. 

“Cool. How do I do that?“ 

The younger shot him a disapproving look, then saying, “Just close your eyes and breathe. Imagine a circle around you and you as the center.“

_Bull_ , Dean thought, for that was easier said than done, but however doing as he was told and closing his eyes. For a while he remained like that and none of the others dared to speak, though unsure if the Winchester was actually concentrating, or rather just taking a nap. But Dean did, in fact, try to find his center, and as he felt like he had found it, before his inner eye a large mass of bright white light and in his heart the feeling of being earthed, he gave a wordless nod, sensing his brother’s eyes on him. 

“Okay.“ Sam whispered in a deep voice. “Now open your eyes and light the candle. You need to meditate on the light of the flame for a few minutes. Clear your mind of all thoughts as best as you can.“

Dean did so, the light of the flame at first too bright for his eyes, as it was rather dark in the room and his eyes had gotten used to being closed. Though, he concentrated on the candle, stubbornly staring at it and trying to erase all the thoughts from his mind, which - surprisingly - didn't turn out that difficult. Then he gave another silent nod and his brother went on whispering the instructions to him, while Dean followed them step by step as he spoke.

“Now you take the lapis lazuli crystal into your hand. You close your eyes again and see a bright white flame with your mind’s eye. See the flame grow larger and larger, filling the whole circle with light. Make this light as strong as you can.“ After a few instants, Dean nodded again and Sam continued. “Hold this image for a moment.“ He paused once more, waiting for his brother to be ready. “Now send light into the crystal you’re holding, imagine that for a moment. Visualize the lapis stone absorb all the light inside the circle around you, until it glows brighter than a thousand flames.“

Dean cracked one eye open then, looking at his brother and commenting in a snide tone, “Brighter than a thousand flames?“

Sam shot him another glare and said, “Well, very bright, Dean, okay? Now concentrate!“

The older one closed his eye again and went back to meditating and visualizing, as his brother continued with the instructions. “Now say what’s written on the piece of paper in front of you.“ Dean took it, frowning as he opened his eyes, and read out loud, “ _May the truth I seek be revealed to me, may the hidden come to light, so mote it be._ “

They remained silent for a moment then, Dean looking about the room as if to expect something visible to happen, like a shiny swarm of sparkling light moving into the stone or a magic feeling inside him. But nothing happened, so he looked up at his brother with a questioning face. 

“The lapis lazuli crystal is now enchanted.“ Sam stated, after he cleared his throat. 

“Awesome,“ Dean said. “And now what?“

“Now you put it under your pillow and wait for it to reveal the truth to you in your dreams tonight.“ Bobby said from out of the corner he had been watching the ritual from. The Winchester met his eyes doubtfully and said, “What if I don’t remember my dreams tomorrow morning?“

“You don’t need to.“ Sam answered. “The book says the truth will come to you in the form of intuition and gut feelings during the day.“

“Great… cause gut feelings are what I like most these days…,“ Dean replied, recalling all the times he had felt sick these past days and distorting his face in disgust by the memory of the taste of gall upon his tongue. He wasn't all that sure this would work, but sure enough that meditation part had helped him to feel a little better for now, the chaos in his mind silenced for a moment and his body relaxed and calm.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I hope you liked it, and the tiny little funny note I tried to give it, and thanks again for reading, I'd still love to get some comments ^^
> 
> Next: we go back in time a little, and back to the present we find out if that Revealing Spell worked.


	8. Chapter Eight

# Chapter Eight

_All of the world ends by coincidence and exhaustion.  
(Heinrich Heine)_

_Fourteen days ago. Sioux Falls._

“I didn’t say it’s a good plan, I just think it’s the only plan we got,“ Bobby said, staring at his boys the way he always did whenever they wouldn’t listen. A deep intense glare to make them see his ways and get them under control. Of course there was no actual way to get Sam and Dean Winchester under control, for they were stubborn idiots, just like their father had been, but Bobby possessed that remarkable talent to at least push them in the right direction every once in a while. 

“You think that’s gonna work?“ Dean asked with clear doubt in his voice. His arms were crossed before his chest, his face the expression of frowning and knitted brows. 

“It’s just some freaking crossroads demon, Dean.“ The older man said from his chair at his desk, while Sam was clearly considering, seated on the couch by the window, but not yet daring to comment, for he was still waiting for his big brother to make the decision for both of them. “Probably worth a shot,“ Bobby added.

Dean nodded. What was the worst possible outcome to this, he thought, it definitely was worth a shot. They had to find Crowley. And even when they didn’t have the tiniest clue yet where to find him, for one never actually knew where he was, they could at least try their best to find it out. They hadn’t really decided what to do with him, once they would have found him, but it would be better to know where he was and what he was planning. After all, he was still King of Hell and a demon, and that might have been useful sometimes, but it was never good to have him out there doing whatever he attempted to.

“And why don’t we just go to any of those crossroads we been before?“ the older Winchester asked, still sure that it was unlikely one of Crowley’s myrmidons would tell them anything.

“I told you,“ Bobby said, his voice turning annoyed again. “Someone seemed to have ripped out all the milfoil, and with no milfoil there the whole summoning won’t work.“

“You don’t know that,“ Dean threw in the ring, though not a hundred percent sure if Bobby had a point or not.

“I sure as hell do, boy,“ Bobby spat back, not even trying to hide the offense in his voice. “Or let’s say… sure as my glorious intuition.“

“But there’s gotta be some crossroad left with some milfoil,“ Sam suggested and Bobby rolled his eyes, for no one ever seemed to manage to take that endless stupid innocent hope from that boy.

“Possibly,“ the elder hunter gave back. “But do ya really wanna search all over the damn planet to find one? Gonna take you weeks or months even.“

“Man…,“ Dean wailed. “I don’t wanna walk through some shit hole forest in the middle of nowhere all night.“

He rubbed his eyes and face, tired of it all. Another night with no sleep and all the fun of searching for milfoil they weren’t even sure was there. But there was no choice left for them. The only other chance they had seen was calling Castiel for help, but he wouldn’t answer. Back to good old doing it yourself. 

_______________

_That same day, during the night. Wisconsin._

Their breath froze in tiny white clouds before their faces, while they were wandering through the dark and cold forest. All around them was stark silent, save for the rustling wind through the branches, fallen leaves and rotten wood on the ground, creaking underneath their footsteps, and the yawps of some birds that sounded much like crows or ravens and the hoot of owls. The trees around them high as five-storied houses and dark as giant shadows and almost scary. Billows of mist wrapped around their trunks and covered the ground like a soft blanket of fog. The ground seemed dry, but the scent of earth and dirt hovered in the damp chilly air, mixing with some strange other odors they couldn't quite categorize. 

“Where we even gonna start?“ Dean whined, sick and tired of walking and longing for a bed to sleep in. 

“It’s a bright yellow flower, Dean, it’s not gonna be that hard to find here,“ Sam snapped back.

They were surrounded by what seemed like hundreds of those huge needle trees that were actually high enough to make it impossible to see their tops. There were some other trees as well, like oaks and birches, and bushes in between them that seemed oddly out of place, as if they didn’t actually belong here. But then again, this forest wasn’t supposed to be ordinary. Bobby had read tons of lore about it. Weird appearances, trees and plants growing overnight and out of nowhere, species that weren’t at home here. Dean liked to refer to it as the _Magic Forest_. “Maybe we’ll see a unicorn or even Voldemort,“ he had joked, knowing now that the reference to the Forbidden Forest from Harry Potter wasn't all that wrong, for it actually looked a little alike. He had only gotten rolling eyes as a return. Bobby didn’t understand that reference. But for all that, if there was milfoil to be found anywhere but at a crossroad, it would definitely be here. This place was practically a massive storage room for rare plants and species.

They had been walking around, scanning every inch of their surroundings, for about an hour by now and all they had found so far was a weirdly shaped oak tree in the middle of a clearing, a redwood tree that wasn’t supposed to grow outside California all by itself, and boat loads of myrrh and sowbread, which usually only grew in Europe, parts of Asia and Africa. 

Dean stopped and inhaled a deep breath. He was terribly weary and needed to wake his eyes somehow. He lifted his head up to the night sky that looked like an unfinished puzzle through all the branches, like it had been sliced into pieces. He felt the cool fresh night air upon his skin, crawling underneath his clothes, making his hairs stand up and his body shiver for a moment, and he rested his lids closed just for a mere second, since the freezing air hurt his eyeballs a little.

“Hey,“ he heard his brother behind him. He turned around and found Sam holding a plant with yellow flowers on it, a happy grin in his face, as if he was a child that had found the treasure first and would win a price now. 

“You sure that’s milfoil?“ Dean asked, just to be sure. 

“Yeah, definitely is.“

The younger one packed it into a plastic bag and shoved it into one of the inner pockets of his jacket. 

Just then they heard screams and noises from somewhere a little off to the east. Their hunter instinct kicking in like a drug you never come down from, they hurled around, trying to find the source with their suddenly sharpened eyes. As they got moving, they eventually found a presumably very old cabin at another clearing that also seemed completely misplaced here. As if it had just popped out of the ground a minute ago, the grass of the lawn appearing as if freshly mowed and all dewy and bright green and the trees around looking like they were illuminated by their own set of moonlight, much brighter and less shadowy, as well as there was no haze swirling around that space. 

Their legs carried them forward, fast and still as quiet as could be, until they found themselves standing on both sides of one of the windows that was so dirty and shady, they could barely see a thing through it. But what they saw was enough. Someone was in there. One guy in a perfectly fitting black suit and a bright blue tie. His hair dark, probably dyed black, for it looked unnaturally tone in tone. A leathery briefcase was standing on the floor in front of him and his hands were in the air, as if his opponent was pointing a gun at him. Only he wasn’t. The other guy just stood there with a wicked smile in his face and something inside his eyes told them he wasn’t good news. 

For the lack of a plan they decided to just storm the cabin and let surprise work in their favor. After taking a deep breath, Sam kicked open the only door with his foot, both of the Winchesters clenching to their guns, ready to shoot anybody, for they didn’t know what exactly it was that was happening here and who really was the good and who the bad guy. Both men stared at them in pure wonder, as they weren’t expecting anything like that to occur. 

“Why hello,“ the guy with the grin in the face said in a Britisch accent and a tone that sent shivers down their spines. “I was not expecting any visitors. But the more the better, I guess.“

The other slightly shorter guy in the suit had his entire body shaking with fear, but still found the courage to ask, with his hands still in the air, “Who the hell are you guys?“

“We’re here to help,“ Sam said tensely, fixing his eyes with his most trustworthy look. 

“You are not going to help anyone here,“ the other guy said with the smile still on his lips, appearing more evil by the second. 

“Yeah? Well, don’t be so sure about that,“ Dean snapped back, keeping his eyes on him with his gun now pointed at the man in a warning manner. His finger was hovering above the trigger, trying hard to contain the patience not to shoot him right away. But the guy only scowled at him, giggling, as if he had just heard the best joke in his entire life.

“That one is not going to work on me, you know,“ he said, meaning Dean’s gun. “Not swinging that way. Plus, everything acts out just the way I planned.“

That was when Dean saw a tiny flicker in his eyes, and he knew what exactly was standing in front of him. He lowered his gun, losing some of the tension. Demons were crazy and hard to kill or just to deal with in general, he knew that, but then again, at least it was possible to talk to them, trick them, manipulate them. You couldn't say that about any of the other creatures they usually hunted, and that was what made them easier to handle after all. Even when most annoying.

“Dean, Dean, Dean,“ the demon said, shaking his head like a disappointed parent. “You are like a little puppy sometimes. Running against the same window again and again, but no one ever stops you, do they? You know why? Because it is just too funny to watch.“

Dean felt like his blood was freezing inside his veins and his heart skipped a few beats there. The demon’s words echoed in his head, as if to make him understand something in a very slow way. _Everything acted out the way he planned?_ He thought, only now realizing that he had just been addressed to with his actual name. It might have been a coincidence they were here. But then again they might have been led in a trap. 

________________

_Present day, day fifteen. Sioux Falls._

Dean woke up with a giant headache. Though he had slept for a few hours, which felt like days, since he didn't get actual sleep these day, save for the occasions when he passed out somewhere, he didn't feel all too well-rested and fresh. He sat up in the bed and heaved himself upon his shaking feet, wiping a hand across his sweaty face. He turned and looked over his shoulder to the pillow, recalling that he had put that enchanted lapis lazuli crystal under it last night. He glanced to the window then, the curtains half-drawn, supposing it was around morning time. 

He didn’t bother to pull any further clothes over himself, as it was another hot autumn day, the sun heating the air already to a sweating degree, and trudged towards the stairway with wearing only his sweatpants. Downstairs he could already hear the voices of the others and made his way to the kitchen where they seemed to come from. 

When he entered the room, the three men sitting around the kitchen table instantly stopped talking and looked to him, clearly expectant and maybe even a bit concerned still. 

Dean was the appearance of sheer exhaustion, his face pale and dark reddish shadows under his cloudy eyes and his walk and posture more of a crouch than that of a healthy human being. He sat down at the table as well and grabbed for the cup of coffee standing in front of Castiel, after a quick look inside discovering that it seemed still untouched, then having a large sip of it, downing half of it like a shot of liquor. The angel shot him a look of disapproval, getting the same look just right back.

“What?“ Dean snarled with a rough and sleepy voice. “What you needing coffee for, feather ass?“

Castiel lowered his eyes to the table top then, pulling his arms off it and folding them in his lap. 

“So?“ Bobby piped up, after a moment of embarrassed silence. “How ya feeling?“

Dean moved his eyes away from the shy angelic figure next to him and to his surrogate father, glaring at him in all the annoyance he managed to gather. “Amazing,“ he gave sarcastically.

“Did the spell work?“ Sam burst out, lacking any patience and goggling at him in mere curiousness. 

“How the hell would I know?“ Dean shot back grumpily. 

“I mean, did you dream anything or something like that?“

“Dunno“

“Dean, concentrate,“ the younger Winchester urged, scooting about his chair nervously like a child that couldn't wait to get his Christmas presents. “Were there any weird dreams, or odd things-“

“I simply don’t know, Sammy,“ Dean cut him off, running a hand through his hair and over his face, his eyes closed and exhausted, the headache starting to increase, while a pulsing feeling went through his veins, as he tried hard to find anything inside his mind to make his brother shut up. 

“I mean… there was that one dream,“ he started after a while of silence, embarrassment creeping up his spine and making him blush a little. “I was like… I was lying next to… Cas and… like I was kinda… naked and… and then that thing… I think it looked like a cloud or something… it was dark and…“ He trailed off then, his glance fixed to the content of his mug that he had his hands wrapped around, while he felt three pairs of eyes on him, avoiding to look at any of them.

“And what?“ Sam urged in almost a whisper.

“And it wrapped around me… it felt cold and… and evil… and it covered me completely,“ Dean continued, aspirating the words, as if he wasn't allowed to say them out loud. “That’s all I remember.“

Silence layered over the kitchen and the four men then for a while, as Dean eventually dared to look up. First he found his little brother, whose face was worried and anxious as never before. Then his eyes flew over to Bobby, who seemed kind of shocked, but rather concerned and considering what it meant. At last he looked to Castiel, the angel staring at him in mere horror first, but when meeting the Winchester’s insecure glance, he looked like he was caught thinking something he wasn't supposed to think, though the hint of amusement grazed his lips. 

“Don’t look at me like that,“ Dean said with a rather shaky unsteady voice. “Don’t you dare look at me like that! I can’t help my dreams.“

Cas settled a warm hand on his shoulder then, the bare touch of skin on skin for his naked torso feeling uncomfortable and inappropriate with what he had just confessed he had been dreaming, it felt like he was watching porn with a dude sitting next to him, but clearly and surely the angel wasn't aware of the unspoken code between guys.

“Dean.“ Castiel said in his calm deep voice, moving his hand away from him then, as he noticed the quick unsure look the Winchester threw at it. “I don’t mind you dreaming of me. It’s only natural, considering that I was inside you.“

Dean frowned, hurled his eyes over to the other two, who exchanged a confused look. “He… he was… he wasn't inside of me! I… what are you talking about, Cas?“ he stammered, looking back at the angel, who seemed to realize just then that he was misunderstood.

“I mean, my force was entering him,“ Castiel made clear, not making it any less cryptic.

“Not making it any better, Cas,“ Dean gave, pressing his fingers against his eyes and relieving a sigh of utter desperation.

“What I’m saying is that I was searching his mind for the cause of his condition the other day.“ The angel tried again, Singer and Sam nodding in final understanding. “So it’s only natural that I was a part of his dream, as traces of my presence are still lingering within Dean’s mind.“

“Okay,“ Sam said then, clearing his throat. “So what you think the dream means?“

“Well… I would say… that dark and evil-feeling cloud could represent some sort of evil energy within him. I can’t tell for sure, though. Dreams are never easy to understand.“ Castiel noted, looking back at the Winchester next to him then, who suddenly didn't seem to be part of the conversation anymore. 

Dean was holding his stomach, bended forward after he had shoved himself backwards on his chair, hisses and moans of pain and agony emerging him, while some kind of urge and thrust and quiver seemed to go through him. The next minute he threw up on the kitchen floor and rested his forehead upon his hands on the table. He coughed violently then, dark blood dripping down onto the ground between his naked feet, coloring his lips in a deep crimson. 

The worried voices of the other three echoed in his ears, only muffled and dull, as he suddenly and abruptly hurled upwards, his face blank, the blood dropping from his lips making its sudden way down his chin and throat, and his eyes glowing in a bright purple color. Just for a bare second, then they turned back to normal, as Dean Winchester came to his senses again and felt the silent but assuring sensation of truth. The Revealing Spell had worked. But how were they supposed to handle an evil energy within him, unknowing of what exactly it was and what had caused it, while even an angel wasn't able to push it out of Dean?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I hope you liked this one, sure as hell indicated some tiny Destiel-ish moment there (can't help myself), but this will stay a non-slash fiction, promise. Also, thanks for another few hits on this, even when I still didn't get any comments, but I'll just assume the silence means you're enjoying reading this?! ^^
> 
> Next: We find out how the guys are handling the situation, what their next step is and how Dean's condition develops.


	9. Chapter Nine

# Chapter Nine

_At first the evil drive is like a passerby, then like a guest and at last like a host.  
(Tora, Talmud Bavli Sukka 52)_

_Day sixteen. Sioux Falls._

“So what you’re saying is that demon back there in the cabin was a crossroads demon?“

“Maybe,“ Sam answered. “I mean, it just all kinda seemed to be too good.“

“What exactly? Torture? Murder? Prostitutes? Yeah, looks like a hell lot of fun to me,“ Dean joked, his hands trying to rub away the starting headache. He felt dizzy again as well, but didn’t want to sit back down. Just this one time he wanted to stand upright for more than three minutes. So he braced himself on the back rest of a chair with both his arms and tried to get over it, blinking away all the sickness and all the madness inside him. He stared at the wooden floor of Bobby’s living room and realized just how much he was failing at it. 

“No. See, Cane used to be some little puppet in that company, and then someday he suddenly gets to be a big fish at the top, making a shitload of money himself just like that? That smells like demon deal to me,“ Sam went on, noticing his brother struggling with whatever it was that was wrong with him. Again he wanted to just ask him what was going on, wanted to make him talk and finally let him help somehow, but then again he knew he wouldn’t get a single drop of truth out of him. Stubbornness runs the family.

“But what’s with all the spilled blood and weird ass murder parties then?“

“Dunno, maybe he was just rolling that way. There’s tons of freaks out there, Dean, sometimes humans are no better than the monsters we hunt.“

“But why were his eyes black then?“, Dean asked on, blinking his eyes shut for a brief instant to cope with himself. “I thought crossroads demons’ eyes are all red and shiny?“

“Yeah, true,“ Sam gave back, looking about the room like he was still searching for an answer himself. “Maybe they can change the color, if they want.“

And that was as good as any other explanation. They had no idea what they were dealing with and if they even still needed to deal with it at all. The demon they were talking about was dead. The victim was dead as well. But something seemed fishy about all this. It was almost like it was all set up for them, crossing their way in a cursed forest in the middle of nowhere. One hell of a coincidence. Or maybe just crossing their way for the sake of crossing it. 

If Cane had made a deal, then why would he re-meet that demon? He couldn’t have made another deal, for there was nothing left he could have sold, they already had his soul. They had met the one or the other demon, who had tried to cheat on the terms of the contract and killed off their contract partners just to get their souls earlier, but so far Crowley had always intervened. Also, they didn’t really think any of those crossroads demons would try and trick their way around a contract ever again, after what had happened to the last one who had tried. Crowley had made an example for all of them and they doubted anyone would take that risk again. Except for Crowley himself maybe.

“What if it’s all been a trap?“ Dean suggested after several minutes of silence, finally sitting down and relieving a deep sigh. He looked up to see his brother’s reaction to his words, but something suddenly distracted him.

“SAM!“ he screamed in terror. “WATCH OUT!“

Sam bended down like a trained dog, getting out of the fire line, as his brother had shoved his shotgun loaded with rock salt in his direction, that had luckily been resting on the table just in front of him, shooting it with a strepitous burst. Sam stood up again with adrenalin in his eyes and full of horror in his heart. His glance flew about the room, searching for the target, but finding none.

“What was it?“ Sam exclaimed in shock.

“A ghost,“ Dean breathed with his brows knitted and his blood full of hunter instinct. He reloaded his shotgun and aimed it everywhere, scanning the room, waiting for the ghost to reappear. His eyes browsed every corner, every inch and every corn of dust in the air. And for a moment he forgot that he felt like throwing up and lying down. For a moment he felt sharp and aimed and like himself. And then he shot again.

“Why the hell are you idjit shooting around in my living room?“ Bobby snarled, as he came through the door. His hand moved over one of the old mahogany cupboards, deep cracks and holes in its doors, his fingers touching them, as if he was grieving a wounded family member. 

“A ghost,“ Dean hissed, still in panic and horror, ignoring the fact that Bobby seemed to be a lot calmer than everyone else. All he could think of was a plan to get out. The doors and windows were probably blocked, but maybe, he thought, they could escape through the basement. All he could think of was to protect his little brother. Carrying Sam out of their burning house, back when they had been little boys, felt like his first ever memory and it had grown itself into his existence. Every step he did and every decision he made only ever felt reasonable and right, if he could have him saved. His entire life was built upon that, it was his one and only life goal, the only thing that could give him sense. And nothing would ever take that from him.

“Dean,“ Sam said with an uncertain sting in his voice, no adrenalin left in his body, as Dean looked back at him. “There was no one there.“

“What are you talking about, he was right there,“ Dean gave back, pointing in the direction he meant and looking at him like he was out of his mind. “Didn’t you see him?“

“No,“ Sam said, miserable worry mixing up his face. “Who?“

“Cane,“ Dean almost whispered, his voice becoming thinner. His eyes flew to and fro in between his brother and Bobby, both their gazes full of doubt and something that looked like pity. Just then the sickness came back to him as well as the mere wonder, if maybe he was the one losing his head. 

His hand clenched the arm rest of the chair he had sat into and felt the dusty material of the old wood, while his eyes were scanning the floor. He wasn’t sure, if they were right or just completely out of their minds. Who was the crazy one now? Who was wrong and who was right? And he wondered, whether it was possible that maybe they had been changing that whole time and not him. Maybe he wasn’t the problem here, but them. 

But then dizziness clouded his mind and sight and his heartbeat went awfully frantic. His brain felt, as if it would upswell and crack open his skull. He noticed warm fresh blood slowly pouring out of his nose, a small stream running across his dry lips and when reaching his chin, a single drop threatened to fall down. He lifted his eyes to the others, who stared at him so purely troubled, they weren’t even able to move. 

“Okay, enough now,“ Sam started, as he found back his voice, a shrill portion of black despair in it. “We watched this long enough, left you alone and let you handle it yourself, but seriously, we need to do something. Just anything!“

But the older Winchester remained silent. Sam looked at him intensely, but Dean’s mouth kept shut. He tilted his head, took a deep breath with closed eyes and as he opened them again, his stare fixed his little brother dangerously. There was something about that look that sent shivers down both Sam’s and Bobby’s spines. It was, as if they saw him for the first time, like this was a whole new Dean Winchester, for something about him seemed so altered, so different and unfamiliar, they didn’t feel like they even knew him anymore. His face still looked the same, but it seemed like he would use it in an alien kind of way. 

After several minutes of ice cold staring, Dean’s lips formed a smile that didn’t look like his own. It seemed like the weird change he had been going through had finally reached its inevitable apotheosis, the climax of a perverted orgasm of evilness. The foreign smile became wider and something in the air made them realize that this was no longer Dean. 

That was when Castiel suddenly entered the room, instantly finding the alternate version of his best friend, blankly staring at the other two with that wicked smile that scared even him as a force of heaven and soldier of the lord. 

“Dean,“ Cas said with a husky voice, stepping closer to the Winchester with slight hesitation. 

“Try again,“ the creature said, bursting in maniacal laughter. 

“What’s happening?“ Sam asked desperately terrified. “Do something, Cas.“

The angel approached the figure on the chair in front of them, swiftly put his hand to its forehead, as his eyes turned a bright glowing blue, the Winchester’s body suddenly falling unconscious within a split second. 

“What did you do?“ Sam asked.

“I put him asleep. Whatever evil that is inside of him, we need to get it out as soon as we can.“

____________________

_Day seventeen. Still Sioux Falls._

The weary figure in the bed woke up, blinking open its eyes in a slow and cumbersome motion. Castiel, seated on a chair very close to the side of the bed, who had been blankly staring at the sleeping body for about six hours, instantly straightened his back and leaned in a little closer. The eyes of the other man moved to him and seemed dreary and lost. For a moment the angel wasn't quite sure who it was looking back at him.

“Dean?“ he asked unstably.

The man upon the bed turned his glance up and about, appearing to be unsure where to settle it. He seemed to consider for a moment and then blinked twice, very laggardly and as if in slow motion.

“Cas?“ Dean barely even whispered in a voice like gravel. He ran a hand across his face and relieved a large and long sigh, as if he had just begun to breathe again.

“Yes, Dean, I’m here,“ the angel spoke, relieved to have his friend back. “How are you feeling?“

“Fine,“ the Winchester replied after clearing his throat. 

“No, really, Dean. Honestly, don’t lie to me.“

Dean slightly put his head in his neck, pressing the back of it into the soft pillow below and staring to the ceiling, then giving, “Like crap, Cas. I feel like crap.“

Castiel settled his hand on the Winchester’s arm then. For some minutes the two remained like that, Cas’ eyes fixing his friend, Dean only staring into space. The angel then grabbed for a glass of water on the nightstand next to the bed and reached it out towards the other man. He held it, trying to hand it to him, for he must be thirsty, but Dean didn't move at all.

“Dean,“ Castiel tried to get his attention. “Here. Drink some water.“

The Winchester knitted his brows then, moving his head towards his friend on the chair, but not really looking right at him. He hesitantly lifted his arm, opening his hand and moving it towards the glass. Missing it by about two inches, as he closed his fingers around mere air and dust particles flying in it. He closed his eyes, his face a regretting and desperate expression. 

“Dean?“ Cas urged, still holding the glass of water in the air. “What’s the matter?“

The Winchester remained stark silent for quite a while, wordlessly trying to gather words, or maybe just thinking about something. “I… can’t see,“ he then aspirated quietly, turning his head away towards the window, sensing the daylight radiating through it only with his inner eye. 

The angel sighed audibly and gave a nod only he himself was aware of. The two didn't say a word for a long time then, both of them inside their own minds and stomaching the bare truth that hovered in the room like a silencing poison. 

Then Castiel dared to speak again, saying, “Dean… that evil energy within you… it’s going to…,“ he paused, trying to find a less terrifying term, but failing at it. “It’s going to kill you at some point.“

When he looked back at his friend, having been staring to the dusty wooden floor before, even when his face wasn't turned to him, he could clearly see the sparkling tears staring to rise inside the other one’s eyes, building a wallow of fear and despair just under their iris, as one single tear escaped and raced down his right cheek. 

“What am I supposed to do,“ the Winchester croaked in a broken and shaking voice, his lower lip and chin trembling, as he couldn't help his sobs any longer. “Help me, Cas,“ he breathed into the air of dark nothingness around him.

“I… I can’t,“ Castiel admitted quietly and disappointed of himself. “I silenced that energy for now, but that’s all I am able to do.“

“Then try AGAIN,“ Dean suddenly yelled in sheer desperateness, then barely even hearable adding, “Try again…“

Castiel winced, sighed and then said, “I did. I only ever managed to cage it inside your mind, Dean. It’s locked in there for now.“

“Well, that does the trick then, right?“ the other replied in a begging way. 

“For now. I can’t tell how long that cage will hold it back. Also, it only keeps it from taking control over you, it doesn't change anything about your current condition, Dean. You’re gradually getting worse, I don’t know how long your body can take it.“

As the Winchester remained silent, still trying to suppress his crying, wiping the tears off his face every now and then, the angel spoke again after some time. “Your brother and Bobby found another spell that might help you.“

Dean turned his head to the side and to where Castiel was sitting, his glance moving around, trying to find something in all the darkness. “What spell?“

“It’s simple candle magic, an ancient ritual to protect someone against any negative energies and also get rid of them.“ The angel explained, trying to convince his friend, but knowing that, in this state, he would probably agree to anything that might help, not all willingly, but desperate enough to try. 

“Okay,“ Dean only said. 

_____________________

_Later that day:_

Though the ritual was best performed during a waxing moon on a Monday, day of the moon, the spell text said that, if urgently needed, it could also be performed on any other day, as long it was done _with moonlight shining down upon the earth, revealing the pureness of the dark_ , meaning it must be dark outside.

Dean had taken a shower, while the others had cleaned up the living room, for the ritual had to be performed clean and in clean surroundings. Sam and Bobby were meanwhile preparing the many objects needed, which were a white blanket, a ritual dagger that was double edged, a censer filled with charcoal, a chalice filled with water, a solid black candle and a solid white candle. Also, magic oil, which should either be Abramelin Oil - an oil enchanted by Abramelin the Mage - or Holy Oil from Jerusalem, as well as protection oil, made of patchouli, lavender, mugwort and hyssop. Also they needed protecting and blessed incense, decorations for the altar, like white flowers or white stars, and things that symbolize protection for the person the ritual was for. 

As Dean was led down the stairs and to the living room by Castiel, holding onto the angel’s arm insecurely and a little anxious he might crash into some doorframe or trip over something on the floor, Sam and Bobby were already waiting for them, the ritual fully prepared and almost ready to be started. 

Dean was seated on the reddish patterned couch by the window, as all eyes were on him. Not that he could tell. The three others exchanged some wordless looks, as Sam started to speak. “So, uh… for the ritual to work, you need to be clean from the outside _and_ the inside.“

“What’s that supposed to mean?“ Dean asked.

“It means,“ Castiel intervened, “you need to be cleansed inside.“

“Thank you, Captain Obvious,“ Dean snapped sarcastically. “How do we do that? Drink liquor to sanitize me from inside?“

“Dean,“ Sam gave with an almost annoyed sigh, “would you forget about your constant desire to develop a drinking problem for just a second and take this serious?“

“Sorry,“ the older of the brothers said sheepishly.

“Cas will cleanse your inside.“ Sam stated, beckoning to the angel standing next to his brother, even when that couldn’t see the gesture. 

“Uh okay,“ Dean gave a little insecurely, for he felt a bit uncomfortable about the thought of the angel invading him once again. “Is that really necessary, though?“

“It is from utter necessity.“ Castiel said. “You would wish to attract clean and good energy and not negative energy. Like attracts like. It’s a natural law.“

He then settled on the couch next to Dean and put his flat hand upon the other’s chest. While he felt the Winchester’s still strong but uneasy heartbeat, his angelic powers entered the human body, his hand and the spot where it touched the chest glowing brightly, as Dean’s eyes closed, his face turning calm and relaxed. It took a few moments, but when the glow vanished and both opened their eyes again, one looking to the other two hunters in the room with an assuring nod, the other still seeing nothing at all, Dean’s heart and innards were cleansed from any bad influences, such as traces of alcohol in his blood or disarray in his heart. 

Dean breathed a sigh of brief contentment, feeling somewhat freshened and clear and ready as ever to begin the purifying ceremony of purgation and renewal of the balance within him, hoping desperately it would work.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, what do you think about this chapter?  
> Thanks for some more kudos and the bookmark :)
> 
> Next: The boys, Bobby and Castiel perform the ritual of Purification and Renewal, while Dean's condition gets even worse.


	10. Chapter Ten

# Chapter Ten

_A friend for each of us - and each more mirror than window.  
(inspired by John Green)_

_Day Eighteen. During the night:_

_He poked around in the bowl of fries in front of him. They were already cold and dry, but then again, he didn’t intend to eat any more of them anyway. The half eaten Cheeseburger looked quite sad on its plate next to them. He really wasn’t hungry. He was sitting on one of the bright red leather benches of a diner furnished in sixties style. The tables were white and framed with chrome, while the floor was of black and white tiles and the walls papered in a cream color, wearing several pictures of Hollywood stars, as well as glowing signs in the shapes of guitars and stars and words like “Hamburger“ or “Tasty“. Many people were gathered around him at the other tables and the counter, drinking coffee or eating fried food, chatting and laughing and not really taking note of him, as he sat all alone in one of the corners. But despite his loneliness and the melancholic rainy weather outside, he felt pretty good. He didn’t feel dizzy, nor nauseously sick or tired._

_He stared out of the window and watched people walking by with their umbrellas and raincoats, stepping into puddles of rain water and being showered from above. They all seemed busy and aimed somewhere and he couldn’t help but be jealous. He hadn’t felt like that for a long time. He had no purpose, nothing to do, nothing to take care of. And with no monster to kill and no big bad someone, who put their world and life at risk, his life didn’t seem to make any sense anymore._

_He was born and destined to make the world a better place, by saving people and hunting things. Born to save the world. At any rate, that was what had always been driving him. Of course he had killed a lot of people along the way and someday he would get himself killed as well. And he always told himself that at least he would go down swinging, but he knew it was a lie, a mere euphemism to cope with the horrible truth. There would be nothing swinging about how he would leave this world someday. The only thing it would be was bloody and messy and very very ugly. So maybe, he thought, he was just born to die._

_“Why, hello,“ he heard from behind him, feeling a hand settling on his shoulder. First he thought it was a waiter asking, if he wanted some more coffee, or some homeless man, who wanted a dollar or two. So he looked up with a light polite smile, but when he saw who was standing there, the smile quickly faded and his eyes widened in disbelief. The man, dressed in a black expensive suit and a heavy also black winter coat and dark blue leather gloves, sunnily smiled back at him and sat down on the bench opposite to him. Almost tenderly he pulled at the fingers of his gloves in a very slow way, getting them off his large hands eventually. He thoughtfully put them on the table and after he had gotten out of his coat that he put beside him onto the red leather, he unbuttoned the jacket of his suit then. His eyes flew back into Dean’s, who had been staring at him that whole time of slowly undressing himself from the soaked thick outside clothes, and he still couldn’t believe his own eyes._

_“It’s very impolite of you to stare at me like that,“ the man said with utter calmness._

_“How…,“ Dean aspirated when he found his voice back, though it was thin, insecure and slightly shaky._

_“Oh, you mean, how am I here?“ the man stated more than asked. “I’m not, actually, you know.“_

_“What d’you mean?“ Dean gave back, his face replacing some of the shock with wonder._

_“Neither are you, Dean.“_

_The Winchester looked around, finding the exact same place surrounding him as before. The exact same people, the exact same furniture. He searched for any sign of change or unrealness, but couldn’t find anything that seemed odd. He had been sitting here for the entire past hour or two and to him it all appeared very real and very actual and very here._

_He then tried to remember all he had done during the past two hours, while scanning the table with his eyes, like it was a screen that would show him. He had sat down and when a sweet waitress, called Sally, according to her name tag, had come by his booth, he had ordered coffee and a Cheeseburger with fries on the side. He had been watching people around him, while trying to eat, and had overheard some of their conversations. The things you hear people say are weird. But the things you’re not supposed to hear them say are even weirder. He couldn’t help but smile, as he remembered the conversation a young girl had had with supposedly her boyfriend in the booth next to his._

_But then it came to him. He tried to remember anything before he had entered this place. How did he come here? Where was his car? Where was Sam? But there was nothing. There wasn't any memory of how he had gotten here or why even._

_“Stop talking in cryptic bullshit,“ he spit, as he found slight anger drowning out his surprise. “Where the hell are we?“_

_The man opposite to him smiled and fake applauded to him, as to how he had made a realization. “We are inside your head, Dean.“_

_“In my head?“ Dean asked a little doubtfully, even when he knew it would make sense of why a dead man was sitting in front of him. “What’s that supposed to mean?“_

_“It means I’m not actually here and you’re not actually here either. The two of us are inside your mind.“_

_“So… I’m dreaming?“_

_“Well, sort of. I can’t actually enter your dreams, Dean. It is correct that you’re sleeping at the moment, but this here around us,“ with that he made a circling motion with both his index fingers, “this isn’t a dream.“_

_“So you’re just an illusion my subconscious made up?“ Dean suggested._

_“No. I am not a product of your subconscious. I am the real me.“_

_“But how are you in my head then?“_

_“I’ve been here for quite a while, Dean. And I thought, perhaps it is time we have a little chat.“_

_Dean stared at him with wide eyes and open mouth, pure horror swashing over him. He moved his glance back to the table top and thought about Cane’s words for a moment. His pupils flew to and fro, while realizing that this was what had been wrong with him the whole time. The sickness, the headaches, the dizziness, his senses leaving him. A snort of tiny relief pushed out of him, as he finally knew what was going on. He didn’t know why and not even how, he didn’t know what it meant and what it would do to him. If it was bad or very bad. But at least he knew now that he wasn't losing his mind._

_“So… you’re possessing me?“ he asked hesitantly._

_“Well, you could say that,“ Cane answered, as if it was the most normal thing in the world. “I don’t like that term, however.“_

_“So what… you’re a demon? A spirit?“_

_“Neither.“_

_“Then what the hell are you, Cane?“ Dean almost yelled and cleared his throat then, as he noticed people staring at them. They might just be illusions and unreal, but he still didn’t like to be judged by them. He tried to control his temper, while he felt like he was being played with, half truths and cryptic phrases being thrown at him and he didn’t seem to get enough answer for all the question he had._

_“And why are you inside me?“ Dean asked, almost exhaling the words in a very deep voice, when he didn’t get any reply, though had to smirk a little, realizing what he had just said. “Wow, that sounded so much kinkier than it was supposed to“_

_“Dean,“ Cane started after several minutes of blankly watching him. “I know this situation might be a little… odd for you. It is for me, too.“ He cleared his throat and took a rather deep breath then. “My soul somehow transferred to your body as I died, and now I live on inside it. But I’m not here to do you any harm.“_

_“Harm?“ Dean gave back, sheer anger and rage rising inside him. “And what d’you call everything I’ve been through these past couple of days? I’m a total mess, man. I can barely stand up straight, not to mention the hallucinations and all that crap. How is that not harming me?“_

_Cane lifted his brows and with them his hands in defense. “I know it was bad, but I swear, I have nothing to do with all that. I’m just trying to live, Dean.“_

_“If it’s not your fault, whose is it then?“_

_“Well, okay. Perhaps all the… struggles you’ve been through are because of me. Holding two souls isn’t easy for a human body. It needs to adjust, get used to it, to make it work. But it’s not my fault, Dean. It’s not like I chose to be caged in your body. It’s not so much fun for me either.“_

_Dean looked at him intensely, put a good face on the matter, but he didn’t believe a single thing out of Cane’s mouth. He didn’t trust him at all. Maybe it was true that Cane’s soul was stuck inside him and maybe his body really had to get used to it, but he wouldn’t be Dean Winchester, if he believed someone, who repeated that it wasn’t his fault over and over again and in a way that didn’t seem truthful to him, not even a bit. Something about Cane’s voice and way of saying things was telling him that he was lying, or at least didn’t tell the whole truth._

_“Listen to me,“ Dean said, bending over the table and fixing Cane’s eyes with pure threat in his expression. “I will find a way to get you out of me, I will. I don’t care what’s your fault or not. I don’t care if you want to stay or not. But what I do care about is my family. So if you try and hurt them in any way, so God help me, I will find a way to kill a soul. And if there isn’t one, then I will invent a way to kill it.“_

_Cane looked at him with a slight trace of uncertainness then and folded his hands in his lap. “Dean, I’m not here to fight you, I -“_

_“I don’t care,“ Dean cut him off. “This little chit-chat is over.“_

________________________

_One day before, day seventeen._

Dean was seated in the center of living room once again. In front of him stood the altar Sam and Bobby had prepared. It was a small coffee table covered with the white blanket, since white was the color of the moon, Dean was also wearing a white v-neck shirt and white sweatpants. The altar was decorated with white jasmine flowers Bobby had bought in the local florist shop of Sioux Falls, as well as several white moonstones and Dean’s favorite silver gun with the white pistol grip, as it was what symbolized protection for him. Three containers were placed in the middle of the table. A bowl of salt to represent the element earth, a censer filled with charcoal and incense to represent the element air, and a chalice filled with water to represent the element water. The element fire was represented by the two altar candles that were also set on the table. 

“So,“ Sam started then, after he had taken one of his brother’s hands to lead it to each of the containers and the candles in order to show him where they were and how they felt, as he was still absolutely blind. They had also rehearsed the words and actions Dean would have to say and do, which hadn't been all that hard, for it weren't many. “First thing you gotta do is prepare the candles with the oil. I already inscribed your name on the black one with the ritual dagger and poured Holy Oil over the white one, so now you only need to rub the black candle with protection oil.“

His older brother waited for him to pour some of the oil on his hand, as he spread it between his thumb and index finger. He grabbed for the black candle to his left, but halted then, hesitantly asking, “What you mean by rubbing?“

“The spell text says you need to run your thumb and index finger over the candle, starting from the middle of it towards the wick, only in one direction and three times, then starting from the middle towards the base of it, again three times.“ Sam explained, while having another look at the text. 

Dean pulled a face of disapproval. “You serious?“ 

“Dead serious,“ his brother gave back. “And don’t forget to say your words at the same time.“

The older one sighed in annoyance, feeling silly by only thinking about it. “Good thing I can’t see all your faces, it’s gonna look like I’m rubbing a dick or something“

He then did as he was told, but not without steeling himself for it first, probably blushing by embarrassment and saying the words, “ _In the name of the moon, the motherly protection force, I rub you with oil to ward off all negative energy._ “

Sam then lighted the white altar candle and used it to light the black candle Dean had put back on the table as well. Then the younger one lighted the charcoal and placed it back in the censer. That done, the preparation was fully finished now. The next step of the ritual of purification and renewal was the cleansing. Sam tapped his brother slightly on his shoulder to beckon him all was ready to go on. 

In his right hand the older of the Winchesters took the chalice filled with water, holding it in the air a little and saying, “ _Be blessed, Spirit of Water._ “ Then he took the bowl of salt in his left hand and said, “ _Be blessed, Spirit of Earth._ “ As he had put the bowl back down, he rose both his hands to the heavens to let energy flow, at the same time saying, “ _Water and salt, cleanse my body and soul, keep me from harm, send me your healing forces through the power of the great gods._ “ He then grabbed for the ritual dagger on the right closer corner of the table with his right hand and said, “ _Be blessed._ “ After that he dipped his fingers into the bowl of salt, took about three pinches out of it in between his fingers and sprinkled them into the water, stirring it in a clock-wise direction with the dagger and saying, “ _May this dagger be cleansed, may this chalice be blessed, may this altar be blessed._ “ Then he reached into the chalice and sprinkled some of the water on himself and the altar, saying, “ _In the name of mother Earth and the Great Spirit._ “ With that the cleansing was done as well. 

“Okay, now we open a magic circle of protection.“ Sam said. “Cas will do that, cause you’re… you know“

“Cause I’m blind?“ Dean stated the inevitable truth that his brother didn't have the heart to say out loud. “Why’s Cas doing it, not you?“

“Because it’s best someone does it, who is not afflicted by your current condition,“ Cas answered in Sam’s behalf from several feet away, Dean supposed. 

“Oh and you’re not?“ Dean asked, a hint of hurtful disappointment in his voice.

“I am, in fact.“ The angel answered. “But I am able to blank out my emotions, which humans obviously can’t.“

Castiel took the dagger then and went on with the ritual. He started at the east wall of the room, standing firm and stable and tightly clenching to the dagger in his hand, and said, “ _Guardian of the East, Spirit of the Air, which lets us breathe, I ask for your protection for the man within this circle._ “ That said, the windows suddenly burst open, fresh chilly winds entering the room and blowing into the center to where Dean was sitting, hurling and swirling about his body, building some sort of soft hurricane around him. Dean felt the moving air surrounding him, giving him goosebumps all over, at first a little cold, but slowly becoming kind of warm, like a mild summer breeze, grazing his skin in a gentle caress, and he suddenly felt the urge to inhale the fresh air deeply into his lungs. The winds decreased then, until they fully vanished, as Castiel went on.

He walked onwards, in a clockwise direction, to the south of the room, saying, “ _Guardian of the South, Spirit of Fire, which gives us light and warmth, I ask for your protection for the man within this circle._ “ Just being able to breathe normally again, Dean suddenly felt the floor beneath and around him getting warmer by the second, and he probably would have winced in fear, if he could see the flames now, licking up at his figure and embracing his skin without burning even a single hair. He felt like being inside a warm hug of a soft blanket and for a moment he found light in all the nothingness and closed his eyes, as if the darkness in there was any different to all the darkness outside. 

Castiel went on to the west of the living room then and said, “ _Guardian of the West, Spirit of Water, which immerses and cleanses us, I ask for your protection for the man within this circle._ “ All the warmth Dean had felt then went to nothing, as a giant splashing wave of water came out of nowhere - at least for him, as he wasn't aware that it had come out of the chalice in front of him - and showered him. He was soaked to deep down to his underwear, the cool water dripping from his chin and tips of hair and eyebrows and running across all of his skin in little streams, cleaning him once again.

The angel then went to the north and said, “ _Guardian of the North, Spirit of Earth, which gives us home and shelter, I ask for your protection for the man within this circle. By turning to the east, I close this circle._ “ That said, Dean suddenly felt a tickle at his crossed legs, climbing his thighs and up his back and chest and when reaching his neck, the little branches of what looked like oak that had grown from out of the floor wrapped about his head and grew some of their typical leaves, becoming wider as they approach the tip of the leaf with indentations halfway to the center, as well as some light brown acorns. After about a minute the branches around the Winchester moved back into the floor, as he felt calm and easy.

Cas closed the circle again by stepping back to the east, the ritual dagger still in his hand and solemnly saying, “ _To all you beings who have come, protect the man within this circle from all negative beings and energies. Banish all evil spirits from this circle, so that he can be open to the good._ “

“I’ll open the circle of protection again now, Dean.“ The angel said after a short while, the Winchester in the center of the room looking as if in trance. Castiel began in the east again, this time anti-clockwise, and said, “ _Guardian of the East, Spirit of the Air, I thank you for coming to this ritual and offering this man your protection._ “ He went to the north and said, “ _Guardian of the North, Spirit of the Earth, I thank you for coming to this ritual and offering this man your protection._ “ Then he went to the west of the room and said, “ _Guardian of the West, Spirit of the Water, I thank you for coming to this ritual and offering this man your protection._ “ Reaching the south, he said, “ _Guardian of the South, Spirit of the Fire, I thank you for coming to this ritual and offering this man your protection._ “ At last, he closed the circle in the east again, saying, “ _To all you beings, who were pulled here by the energy of this ritual, I bid you farewell. You may go back to whence you came_.“

All of them remained silent for a long moment, the magical feeling of the ritual hovering in the air like something seizable or visible, as Sam, who had watched it all with Bobby from one of the corners, approached the altar and put out the candles with two moistened fingers, and Bobby opened the windows just a little more, so that their wishes could go up with the smoke to higher spheres. 

Dean relieved a large and very audible sigh of turbulence, although he felt as clear and relaxed as he hadn't in a long time. He felt a familiar hand settling at his arm, as he was lifted from the floor, his hair and clothes still soaked with water, traces of wood sticking to his almost transparent cotton short-sleeved shirt and longing for another shower, but content in his heart and declamped in every fibre of his body.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, what did you think of the ritual? Obviously, I didn't invent it, it's an ancient Wiccan ritual, slightly altered by me here and there.   
> Thanks for more hits and new kudos :)
> 
> Next: The guys learn, whether the ritual worked.


	11. Chapter Eleven

# Chapter Eleven

_Raise your words, not your voice. It is rain that grows flowers, not thunder.  
(Rumi)_

_Eighteen days ago. Somewhere in Wisconsin._

Cane was all sweaty and damp, as he was making his way through this muddy and widely unexplored piece of woods in the middle of nowhere, somewhere between Ladysmith and Abbotsford, Wisconsin. He had never been here, nor had he ever even been to Wisconsin. He wasn't a forest kind of person, though, walking the woods or even being in the nature wasn't his thing. Usually he was a city person, walking the pavements of metropolises, with cars and busses passing him, everything he needed just around the corner. Civilization, that was what he needed. Nevertheless, he was wandering across the soft ground now, trees surrounding him tall as the buildings of the cities and plants he had never seen before. 

He cursed some swearwords into the hazy air, as he stepped into a puddle of god knows what, messing up his shoes in ways he had never imagined. He pulled his cloak about his body even more, since it was a quite cold autumn night, telling himself again that it all was for the greater good. 

Even when his business partner had seemed rather dubious and shady on the phone, this wasn't the ordinary business he engaged in, you just had to indulge the one or the other odd person when trying to reach your goal. The party he was planning would be the best one yet, the largest and most riotous. About 65 guests had been invited by his secret invitation network and he wouldn't want to disappoint them. It always needed to be bigger and better, meaning more excessive and more extravagant. And also more expensive. 

This time he hadn't booked any prostitutes, for the agencies and procurers started to get a little suspicious and distrustful. He could have gathered some of the tramps on the streets, but they simply weren't pretty enough, only worn-out and too old for his customers’ desires. They wanted young and innocent and beautiful. So this time he had browsed all his connections for the right man to get him the right product. Girls, young flesh no one would miss.

He didn’t know why that slave trader wanted to meet here of all places, though you could never be careful enough and this forest was perfect for neither being disturbed, nor caught. 

His hand still clenched to the black leather briefcase that bore the money for the trade of thirteen teenage girls from Vietnam. He would get them delivered by the night of the party and right to the doorstep of the mansion he had rented for the cause. All was well-prepared, now he only had to get the deal done.

As he turned right after a giant oak tree, as the description he had gotten from his business partner said, he found the small cabin on a clearing that seemed far too clean given its surroundings. But he didn't lose a single thought over it, since he wouldn't mind a little tidiness right now. 

He stepped to the front door, which seemed to be the only door, knocked three times and entered. Inside, much dirtier and dustier as he had wished, sitting at a little wooden table, he found a slender man wearing casual clothes. He had greasy dark brown hair and an untended stubble kind of beard disgracing his sunken face. His eyes were reddish and swollen, his lips thin and dry. As the man caught sight of Cane, a hint of a smile started to spread in his expression.

“Why, hello,“ the man said and rose. He approached Cane half-way through the room and reached out his hand to him. 

“Hello,“ Cane answered, shaking his hand hesitantly, but as firm as he managed. Low-life people like the man in front of him always scared him a little, but he tried not to show that too much. “My pleasure. What’s your name?“

“Names aren't of importance, Sir.“ The other replied in the recognized British accent, throwing a look at the briefcase. “Is that the money then?“

“Yes. Straight to business. I like that. You got the girls, right?“

“I was thinking about changing the deal a little, Cane.“ The stranger gave with a smirk and something about the way he said his name felt familiar to Cane. He couldn't quite grasp what it was, however, so he concentrated back on what he had just heard. 

“What do you mean, change the deal? I thought we already had a deal. This money is for girls and nothing else, Sir.“

“We appear to have different opinions of that.“ The other stated, fixing his eyes, as he reached out his hand and grabbed Cane by the collar, making him squeak out a cry of fear. “The new deal is, you die and if you’re a good boy, I’ll make it quick for you.“

Cane shivered with pure helplessness, as the man let go of him, his face the mere expression of a maniac. That was when suddenly the door burst open and two guys entered the old cabin, pointing their loaded guns at them, as Cane started to wonder what was happening here. 

________________________

_Day eighteen, during the day. Sioux Falls._

Dean woke up on the couch in Bobby Singer’s living room, his body in a strange and tangled posture, as he tried to sit up and rubbed his eyes with the heels of his hands. He looked around in the empty familiar room, searching for any of the others, but when he found nobody, he turned to the window behind him. Daylight blazed through the dirty panes of glass like a merciless force of nature, slightly blinding him, as he blinked away the sleepiness. 

He turned away and looked at his hands for a while, when it suddenly hit him. His hands. The dusty wooden floor. The room. The sunlight. His eyes flew about his surroundings, as if they were racing each other, when he finally realized. He could see. He saw it all. 

His eyes widened in shock, his heart wildly pounding against his ribcage, as he jumped up to his feet and cried out a loud and echoing, “SAMMY!“

He waited a few seconds, walking over to the doorframe and calling his little brother again. When he finally heard hurried steps down the stairway, he looked up and found the other Winchester running down, halting midway and blankly staring at him. 

“Dean?“ he almost aspirated, since it appeared like his big brother was looking right back at him, with a happy smile all across his face. He made the remaining steps, slowly and hesitantly approaching him in what seemed like pure bafflement and disbelief. “Dean,“ he said in a raspy tone, then embracing his brother in a tight and emotional hug, sighing out all the relief he could manage to summon. 

As the Winchesters eventually drew away from each other again, Sam’s hands resting on Dean’s shoulders for just a moment more, as if he tried to make sure he was real, they found Castiel standing in the hallway as well. He wore a cautious smile, as he put his hand to the older Winchesters cheek for a brief second, nodding in approval. 

“I think that ritual worked,“ Dean gave cheerfully, his eyes sparkling with all the hope he had tried not to lose these past days. He felt great, fantastic even. His whole body felt strong and steady, no dizziness, no sickness, no shivering and no headaches. It was almost like he was back to his old self, if not even better. 

“We should celebrate,“ Sam said, walking towards the kitchen and returning with three glasses and a bottle of whiskey. Dean took the glass he was handed, though as a matter of fact raising an eyebrow in surprise. 

“Isn’t it a little too early for drinks?“ the older one gave with a rebuking tone, glancing down at his black wristwatch. It was about 11 o’clock in the morning. 

Sam poured liquor into the glasses to half level, saying, “Since when do you care?“

Dean snorted, sipping on the tasty fluid with pleasure, flooding his veins in a wave of numbing enjoyment. He looked into his glass then, watching the brown sparkling content slowly swashing about, as he slightly circled the glass in his hand. He heard his brother and Castiel joking about how the angel wouldn't even feel a sting of alcohol, for the eleven-hundredth time, as he looked up to them and their happy faces and forced a thin smile onto his lips that didn't quite reach his eyes.

“Dean,“ Cas spoke then, after his glass was empty, catching a glimpse on the Winchester’s stiff face. “Everything all right?“

Dean cleared his throat, raising his eyebrows and widening his smile. “Yeah. Yeah, sure. I couldn't possibly feel better.“ He took another large sip of his whiskey then and as he swallowed it, keeping the liquid dancing around on his tongue for an instant, he found the suddenly all back to worried glances of his brother and his friend. “Seriously. I’m fine.“

Their expressions relaxed again then, as Castiel cleared his throat, intensely fixing the older Winchester’s profile for a moment and then saying, “I’d like to have another look into your mind, Dean. Just to be sure you’re okay.“

“Necessary?“ Dean only replied, frowning in slight annoyance. 

“Highly.“ The angel gave, adding that authority of his to his voice that always pressured the Winchester in a way he couldn't explain. 

He nodded in reluctant agreement, as Castiel put his index and middle finger to his forehead and closed his eyes, only to open them again with their bright blue angelic glow. For a good five minutes the two remained silent, as well as Sam, who observed all with insecurity crawling up his spine, desperate to hear his big brother was okay again. 

As the angel lost his glow and removed his fingers, he stared into space for a moment, stomaching and making sense of what he had just seen, before he spoke again. The brothers stared at him in expectation, as he finally said, “You’re okay.“

They both released a giant sigh of relief, as if out of one lung and like they had held their breath for all the amount of time they had been waiting for the angel’s examination result. 

“At least I couldn't find anything out of the ordinary. It seems like your mind has cleared and lost its chaos, as well as your body appears to be working just fine.“ Castiel added in a dead serious tone, his voice deep and kind of monotone, making the Winchesters unsure of how he felt towards that observation. 

“Great!“ Dean exclaimed in all cheerfulness, lifting his nearly finished glass of liquor to the air, as if to toast to them. He downed the remains of whiskey, a wide smirk spreading all across his face then, his eyes sparkling in a way none of the others had ever seen before. 

Cas cleared his throat once more, as he spoke again. “Though,“ he said, halting for a brief three to five seconds, “apart from the fact that there was nothing to be found to worry about… there was also nothing else to be found.“

Sam shot the angel a frowning face of confusion. “What’s that supposed to mean?“

“It means I found nothing.“ Castiel answered, looking back at the younger of the Winchesters, his expression concerned and grave. “Nothing at all. His mind is empty.“

“Empty isn't all that bad,“ Dean gave with a chuckle. “Most of the time I don’t like my thoughts all that much anyway.“

___________________

_Later that day, late evening._

Dean was seated in the kitchen at the small dining table. In front of him that bottle of 12 year old Glenfiddich Single Malt Scotch. His hand held a beautiful whiskey glass that sparkled in the light of the moon coming through the kitchen window. All around him was dark, except for that glass, the hand holding it and the table’s surface. The only sounds audible his occasional swallows and the quiet buzzing of the fridge. 

He felt calm and comfortable, happy even, as the sweetish bitter taste of his favorite drink flew through him and washed over his head and body like the mercy of relaxation. His strength and health had come back to him, as he didn't have to deal with his sickness anymore. His mind felt clear and concentrated and he even felt younger in a way, as if he had just woken from the nightmare of a serious disease. This was it. He had his life back. He had his senses back. He could see the world around him again. And never had he been so happy to have it all back and feel it and live it and see all the sinister and horrible edges and corners of it.

His face was a deadpan expression, blank like a piece of paper, as just then his brother entered the room, halting in the doorframe with a frown that was probably as large as his entire tall figure. He quietly cleared his throat then and turned the light on, making Dean blink away the stinging rays emerging from the bulb just above him. 

“What you doing drinking all alone in the dark here?“ the younger one asked confusedly. “Everything all right?“

Dean only ever gave a silent nod, trying to shield his eyes from the sudden light and taking another sip of his drink. Sam sat down opposite to him then, his stare not leaving his brother and his frown still in place. “You feeling okay?“ he asked, but the other only gave another wordless nod, his glance down into his glass, his face mere stiffness. 

“So…,“ Sam started once again a little uneasily. “Seems like were back to normal then, huh?“ His older brother didn't comment it, so he just settled on babbling on. “You all manly quiet, suffering to yourself, and I trying to understand what’s going on… I thought we’re kinda past that, though… Dean, you can tell me anything, you know tha-“

“Not suffering,“ Dean mumbled, cutting him off. 

“Then why you sitting in the dark all depressed?“ 

“Not depressed“

Sam released a large sigh of despair then, since he clearly sensed something was going on inside his brother’s head. He would have thought Dean would be all happy and cheerful after that ritual had actually worked and freed him of whatever energy or being there had been inside him. But instead he seemed sad and struggling and not anywhere near how he was supposed to feel. 

“What’s going on, Dean?“ Sam asked in a desperate and impatient tone, a hint of slight annoyance creeping into it. 

“Hey,“ the older of the Winchesters replied, suddenly much louder than his mere whisper of before and looking out of the window, “you know that one of these old cars out there has the word _dick_ carved in one of its doors?“ A boyish smirk moved over his lips, followed by a childish giggle. But it both vanished just as fast as it had appeared. 

Sam ran a hand over his face, sighing once again and saying, “Funny.“ There was a quite long silent while then, in which he was observing the odd kind of way his brother was acting and tried to come up with a plan to make him reveal what was going on. 

“You know what’s also out there? The ashes of about twenty people that we either couldn't save or couldn't keep safe.“ Sam then stated in the desperate try to make the older one react to him in any way. 

Dean finally turned to him then, staring back into his eyes, while before he had been strictly avoiding them. For a minute he just blankly stared like that, no movement in his face or body, nothing in his eyes but sheer emptiness. Then he, suddenly and out of the blue, burst out into a shrill laughter that echoed through the room like the mad cry of a hawk. He kept laughing and laughing, until tears of joy flooded his eyes and raced down his heated red cheeks. And Sam almost flinched, downright terrified by the insane laughter of his brother about something so horrible and sad.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next: What's going on again? Didn't the ritual work after all? Or is Dean simply sick and tired of people worrying about him?


	12. Chapter Twelve

# Chapter Twelve

_“I have swept away your transgressions like a cloud-mass, and your sins like a cloud. Return to Me, for I have redeemed you.“  
(Torah, Isaiah 44,22)_

_Day nineteen. Sioux Falls._

Sam moved his hand across his face, relieving a stretched sigh of exhaustion, as he turned the page of the big old book resting in front of him on Bobby’s desk. He, the other hunter and Cas had been browsing the book shelf for about three hours now, for there must be anything that could help with what they were dealing with. Only that they didn't know what _exactly_ they were dealing with. Dean appeared healthy and okay on the outside, ever since they had performed the Ritual of Purification and Renewal that was supposed to purge him from the negative energies within him, but then he also seemed strange. He didn't act like the Dean Winchester they knew and loved anymore, but clearly uneasy and downright scary. 

“Why didn't that ritual work?“ Sam wondered out loud into the room, making both Bobby and Cas look up from what they were studying. “I mean, it should’ve, right?“

“That ritual is surely one of the more powerful ones,“ the angel said after a short while. “But sometimes… even that can’t help with evil spirits or energies. It seems like whatever keeps hold of your brother is more powerful than we thought. It fought me and my healing attempts, so it must be able to fight a ritual like that as well.“

The three of them remained silent for some minutes, as the Winchester aspirated with a sting of despair to his voice, “What do we do now…“

“Well…,“ Castiel answered in large hesitation, “… actually… I do have another idea we could try.“

“What is it?“ Sam shot back, tiny hope sparkling up in his eyes, while Bobby didn't say a word, only listening to the two and considering. 

“I could perform angel magic on Dean. I know a potent Enochian spell that could banish the possessing being from him.“

“What are we waiting for then?“ Sam stated more than asked.

“Sam… this is powerful and even dangerous celestial magic. It can and _will_ hurt your brother. He will feel pain in an amount he hasn't ever felt before. I’m not sure we sh-“

“Do it!“ the younger of the Winchester brothers cut him off demandingly and with sheer determination in his eyes. He wouldn't let his brother get taken over by anything, he wouldn’t lose him. He would save him from this, no matter what it cost. 

“Don’t ya think Dean’s the one makin’ the choices here?“ Bobby piped up from his corner, getting a look of disapproval from the other hunter. 

“No.“ Sam decided. “Dean’s not himself.“

“We should at least try and persuade him to agree to this.“ Castiel noted rebukingly. 

“Fine.“ The Winchester gave back, standing up and heading upstairs, quickly followed by the trenchcoated angel. 

Some minutes later the two reached the bedroom Dean had been holing up in all day, since he wasn't much into conversation or any social contact today. He was drawing away, avoiding his family, slowly slipping away from them like dry sand from hands.

They knocked twice, then entered the room, causing the older Winchester shifting upon the bed and quickly turning his face away towards the window opposite to the door. He had appeared clear in his mind and concentrated to the bits, ever since the ritual had given him his senses back, but when the angel had discovered that his head was empty, he had become even more scary than before. It was a little paradox, being more focussed with an empty mind, but it only made sense in a way. His head had been drained by all possible emotions, no fear, no anxieties, no traumas or any other feelings left, he was now able to think thoughts in the purest and undisturbed way possible. Kind of the way someone who lost his soul could. 

“Dean,“ Sam said cautiously, as if to approach a wild animal. “We need to talk.“

The older of the brothers didn't react, making the two others exchange a concerned look. 

“Dean,“ Castiel tried then, walking closer to his friend, stoping in front of him to see his face. Dean sat on the edge of the mattress, his arms hanging down loosely and his hands lazily folded between his legs. His head was lowered to the ground, but the angel still found the blank emptiness in his face. He settled a soft hand upon the Winchester’s shoulder, gently squeezing it a bit, making him slowly look up to him. His eyes and expression were merely dull and deadpan, but when Cas dared a thin careful smile, Dean’s brows started to prepare aggression in his face. He slapped away the angel’s hand and rose to move towards the window. 

“Get out,“ Dean barely even whispered, his voice monotone and meaningless. 

“Dean,“ his little brother tried again. 

“GET OUT,“ he screamed against the window’s glass, almost making it quiver. 

A short silent moment followed, as the younger Winchester spoke again. “We have an idea how to get rid of that thing inside you. Cas could do some powerful Enochian angel magic on you. Please, Dean. Let us help.“

“I need no help. I’m fine.“ Dean stated numbly, standing there like a motionless mannequin in a shop-window. 

“Dean, that evil energy, or whatever it is… it’s still inside you, we’re sure of that. Please… don’t make me force you.“

And that was when the older Winchester sensed the amount of despair and concern resting in his little brother’s tone, causing a sting of emotions suddenly and quietly rising inside his chest, as he felt something again for the first time in what felt like a long time. Hesitantly, he turned around to face the two men standing in his room and his face had lost its aggression and left only agony. It could have been a mere sudden mood swing, such as he had often now, but something in his eyes told them that he actually felt guilty and compassionate.

“I… may have an idea what’s inside me.“ He then stated with a calm but miserable voice. “I had that… dream the other night… well, it wasn't an actual dream, but it happened when I was asleep.“

As the others remained patiently silent, Dean continued telling them about how he had met Cane in that illusional diner inside his head. He told them about what Cane had said to him and how he mistrusted him and the way the conversation had ended, careful to give them all the details he still remembered. 

“I’m not sure that wasn’t just a damn dream, though. Could’ve been, right?“ He then said, as he had finished his story. “I mean, why would Cane wanna hurt me? I tried to save him, we both did, Sammy.“

Castiel considered for a moment, unsure of the possibility of the idea. A ghost was sure able to possess a human being, but would that really cause a condition like that? And wouldn't there have been any traces of ectoplasm then? A ghost possession wouldn’t make Dean sick and lose his mind, a ghost would merely use the body to perform whatever it wished to do, with the human mind within silenced and mostly unconscious. Also, that ritual should’ve driven the ghost out of Dean, for a freshly become ghost, like Cane would be, wouldn’t be anywhere near powerful enough to withstand the forces of the Spirits of Elements. 

“I’m not sure.“ He only gave then. “But whatever it is that’s clinging to you… that Enochian spell should be powerful enough to rid you from it.“

“Okay.“ Dean said, fixing his angel friend in a hopeful stare, finding that utter trust he had in Castiel that wouldn’t ever fail him, he thought. 

“Dean…,“ Cas said after a brief moment of uneasiness. “It will hurt… a lot.“

The Winchester stared at him for another moment, then nodded in agreement, while his younger brother released a sigh of relief, all the tension suddenly falling off him, glad he wouldn’t have to tie his brother to a chair against his will.

___________

_About an hour later:_

Bobby - with exquisite skill and patience to the details - had painted a sizable sigil on the wooden floor with red paint, after he had freed the ground from all carpeting and furniture. It was the Sigil Of Ameth, or the Sigillum Dei as it was also called, the sigil of god. It was a large double ring with a double heptagram in it, containing a seven-spiked intertwined star with a double heptagon in it and a pentagram in the center. Numerous Enochian symbols and crosses decorated all the forms and the interspaces. The ring contained 40 pairs of letters and numbers, with seven letters capitalized. The heptagram within also contained several letters, as well as in between the two shapes, building many ways to read and combine to find a lot of names of angels, like archangels, the seven planetary archangels, like Raphael, Michael and Gabriel were, and groups of other angels, like the Sons of Light, the Daughters of Light and their sons and daughters. The sigil also bore the names of God, not known to the Angels, neither can be spoken nor read of man. It surely was one of the most difficult and most complicated sigils existing. 

“Okay then,“ Castiel said, as he stood before Dean, who was positioned in the middle of the Sigil Of Ameth, for the sigil provided theurgic power over all beings, except for archangels, admittedly. “Let’s begin.“

The entire room, Bobby and Sam watching from their seats in the back of the room, fell into a devotional and downright stunned silence then, as the angel, facing Dean north first, reached out his hand and traced the lineal figure of a pentagram in the air with his index and middle finger, the Winchester in front of him staring in bafflement, as the blueish glowing fingers moved before his chest. Then Castiel touched his forehead with said fingers, a deep ray of angelic light entering the man, while he intoned in Enochian tongue, “Noh-noo-kee-feh kah-hees.“ _You are_. 

The Winchester felt a stinging pressure penetrating his head, pounding almost, feeling like a bulldozer or a truck was racing through his mind. Slight dizziness overcame him, as he shook away the numbing sentiment, as if it was an invisible veil of silk. 

Castiel’s hand settled upon his right shoulder then, intoning, “Loh-noo-sah.“ _Power_. 

A crushing weight lay onto his muscles and bones, like electric shocks thundering through every fibre, emerging from his shoulder down his spine. The angel did the same to his left shoulder, this time saying, “Boos-dee-ray.“ _Glory_. 

Suddenly Dean felt like his shoulders were straightened to a degree they had never managed before, making him stand upright and strong like a soldier in the battlefield. But the sensation of proudness and power vanished into thin air and was replaced by mere embarrassment and a bright blush, as the angel put his hand upon his crotch, only softly and barely touching anything, but spreading an uncomfortable feeling within the human being inside the sigil.

“Uh, Cas…,“ Dean aspirated uneasily. “The fuck are you doing?“

The angel glanced upward for a brief instant, fixing his subject of curing in a blank stare, but he didn't answer, only shushed him, ordering with those authority-filled eyes to keep quiet and concentrated. Then he spoke, “Ah-doh-hee.“ _Kingdom_.

A strange sensation overwhelmed the Winchester then. First he thought it was something like sexual arousal, but learned better, as the stimulus within his loins started to get nearly painful, flooding him with the oddest uproars of strength and ego. 

Cas’ hand was placed on his chest then, finally relieving him from that weird and unpleasant sting, his hand flat and warm and feeling larger than it actually was, as the white light flew into Dean’s ribcage with the Enochian words, “Ee-oh-ee-oh-dah.“ _Him that liveth forever_.

Then, his friend still facing north, he traced another banishing pentagram before his chest, afterwards posing the Sign of the Enterer, his hands folded in front of his own body and reached out, and intoned, “Ee-ah-ee-doh-noo.“ _All-powerful_.

There was utter silence then, as the angel had his eyes closed, seemingly concentrating all his will and force towards the Enochian spell he was casting. As he looked at the Winchester again, he held his hand open across the other’s breast and Dean felt his powers urge him to look down to the ground, not violently, though, but gently, as he was suddenly hit in his chest by the angel’s hand, who with that attempted to make his force stab his center to remove the evil being from him. It hurt. It hurt like a pointed blade to his heart, making him barely able to breathe and gasp. 

Castiel turned the still crouching figure to the East and then spoke, “Gay ee-ah-dah.“ _Our Lord and Master_. There was another moment of silence then, while Dean was still trying to cope with the pain inside his body. His eyes closed in sheer hope this would be over soon, as he felt the angel’s hands at his temples, his thumbs were pointed outward, making him tilt his head forward and down even more. It nearly felt soothing and appeasing for a second, but when the right hand left his left temple, he felt another hard hit to his chest, this time bright light entering his body that seemed to be even whiter and spreading through his veins, looking like hundreds of tree roots disseminating from his heart. 

He was faced westwards then, barely able to stand upright anymore and breathing heavily like after a long outrageous sprint. Then the older of the Winchester brothers heard the Enochian words, “Moh-nah-ess-kee.“ _The Great Name_. Of course he didn't know what they meant, since he didn't speak Enochian, but they sounded threatening and he found himself fearful for the next punch, horrifying anticipation waiting for the angel to hit him in his chest again. It wasn't the motion or the hand itself that left him in pain, it was the angelic light entering him in order to banish the evil that burned like corroding acid on naked flesh. 

After another brief while of silence and concentration, Castiel reached out his hand anew, without touching him making Dean outstretch his arms with his palms open and his head arched back and looking upwards, appearing like he was crucified on a wooden cross that wasn't there. Then, out of nowhere, the angel stabbed him with his force again, this time harder and stronger than before, leaving the Winchester flinch in agony and desperately pant for air and whine in excruciating ache.

He was faced north then, as Cas started with the last sequence of his heavenly spell, intoning, “Loo-kah-lah ee ee-keh-zah-heh-keh-ah-lah.“ _You are yourself_. He settled his hand upon the Winchester’s chest once again, saying, “Bah-bah-gay ee eh-dah-lah-pah-ahr-nah-ah.“ _In the South you are_. His hand and Dean’s chest began to glow in a bright crimson as he did so, heat and a feeling of fire entering the human’s body like a dangerously high fever that threatened to burn him to ashes.

“Rah ah-ess eh bah-ah-tah-ah-ee-vah-heh.“ Castiel said then. _In the East you are_. His hand and Dean’s body turned a glacially cyan blue, as a whirlwind of wintry air hissed into his body and erased the fieriness within a split second. He found that he couldn't move, not even the tiny muscles of his eyelids, as he stood there stiff and stony like that biblical pillar of salt.

The cyan turned into a shiny crystal blue light then, as the angel spoke again with his deep raspy voice that would make a bug willingly fly into the deadly light if ordered so. “Oh-dah soh-boh-loh-nah ee rah-ah-gah-ee-oh-ess-lah.“ _And in the West you are_. Dean suddenly felt the billions of cells in his body riot and swell, the water within them tossing and turning, as if it was boiling to steam. His lungs cramped in tormenting pain, lost for air to breathe and live, as the angel in front of him fixed him with a grave glance of determination, intoning his last Enochian words. “Mee-kah-mah vah-nah-lah ee-ah-el-poh-ray oh-ee-vay-ah-ay.“ _Be these, be you_. 

The pressure to his chest increased, as Castiel pushed his glowing hand to it, causing the sentiment of his heart to stop, his powers entering merciless and scratching out his inner demons. The angel’s eyes started beaming with white blinding light, as bright as none of the hunters had ever seen before, enlightening the room to a degree barely any of them was able to bear. Sam and Bobby covered their faces, as the shadows of Castiel’s wings decorated the wall behind him with all their grace and beauty. 

As the blazing light disappeared, Cas removed his hand and silence fell upon the room. For a good minute nothing happened at all, while everyone in the room had their eyes on the figure in the center of the Sigil of Ameth. But then Dean’s lids fell shut, as he sank down to the floor and his knees.

“Dean!“ his younger brother exclaimed, jumping to his feet, attempting to bolt over to him, but not yet daring to come too close. A bare moan emerged his brother’s throat, wallowing in plaguing misery and anguish. His eyebrows were distorted to a suffering expression above his still closed eyes and a single tear trailed down his cheek.

But then his face suddenly and unforeseen relaxed and lost its bitter tension. A deep growling laughter of sheer madness crowed out of him, as he opened his eyes again, lifting his head to reveal sinister shadows radiating from his emerald eyes. 

“Dean?“ Sam aspirated, frightened by the unfamiliar look his brother gave him. 

The kneeling man stopped his chuckle, as he gave a snort of amusement and shaped his lips to a mischievous smirk. “Dean left the building,“ the man wearing a Winchester’s face snarled tauntingly and rose to his feet. “As will I now.“

He made a step towards the door, when Castiel stood in his way with a grim expression, only to get knocked aside in a swift motion, the creature making its way on to the exit. But he was held back again, as Sam grabbed him from behind and tried to keep hold of him. But the altered Dean quickly turned and pushed him away with both hands, throwing him off against the desk with more than bare muscle, his head hitting the old wood, making him pass out upon the floor. As the man glanced over, he found Bobby Singer pointing a shotgun at him, which only caused another dark smirk. 

“You don’t want to shoot that, do you? We don’t want to damage this handsome body now, right?“ he said with a hint of dastard amusement in his voice. The old hunter paused for a moment, slightly lowering his gun, for he wasn't quite sure he had thought this over enough. The creature wearing his surrogate son wasn't wrong. He didn't want to hurt Dean. 

He considered his next step for an instant, as the angel approached the figure again, his eyes glowing its angelic glare and the silvery pointed angel blade slipping from his sleeve like a mere automatism. The being wearing Dean’s body chuckled again, as he caught sight of it, its tip glinting in the light, appearing in anticipation of the coming fight. Castiel stepped forward, reaching out his free hand and with that forcing the man back down on his knees with his celestial powers, their shrill whistling sound echoing through the room and everyone’s ears like a tinnitus. 

That was when the creature suddenly and out of the blue grasped for the angel blade, holding it tip down and skillfully slicing it across Castiel’s stomach, a blueish white light radiating from the fresh wound and thickish red blood dripping from it for his injured vessel. Cas held his front, crouching down in pain, when he heard the dropping sound of his weapon and found the evil entity disappear in flight. It had been right after all. Dean had left the building.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So. This was a pretty hard chapter for me. I am aware that not everyone knows the Sigil of Ameth, at least not by the name (at least I never heard the name before), though the one or the other probably saw it at least once for sure. (For those interested in it: google the name)
> 
> The Enochian spell is real by the way (well, at least really researched, not invented out of thin air), though I slightly altered it, because the side I got it from is highly confusingly written, so that I just had to make it slightly easier. 
> 
> The Enochian lines Cas says are of course spelled differently in reality, but I wrote them like they are pronounced :) their translation behind them in italics is more freely translated than linguistically skilled, for I simply don't speak Enochian and it's quite hard, too ^^ if there are any Enochians around here, I'd even love a correction if necessary :D
> 
> Next: We'll face essential questions. Where's Dean? Who's Dean? What the hell?
> 
> At this point I'd like to thank you all for the hits and kudos again and of course for even reading this :)


	13. Chapter Thirteen

# Chapter Thirteen

_“A prisoner cannot free himself.“  
(Torah, Berachot 5b)_

_Day nineteen, late evening. Somewhere in Eminence, Missouri._

He sat at his massive dark wooden desk inside his study, smirking to himself, as he sipped of the glass of his favorite drink, 30 year old Craig. His eyes wandered towards the large window to his side, looking out into the dusk. The light of the sundown dipped the water of the river by his house in the middle of the woods near Buttin Rock in a sparkling cadmium orange. 

“This is good news,“ he spoke in his deep pleased voice, as he took another sip and waved his hand, beckoning the other man in the room to go on reporting. 

“He managed to escape, Sir.“ The other said, calm but a taint of fear in his voice. 

He turned in his black leather chair, frowning. “What is he doing then?“

“It seems… mostly having fun, Sir.“

A wide smirk spread in his face then, his eyes glinting in satisfaction. He loved when his plans worked out. “I bet…,“ he purred in his British accent, his eyes trailing off into space for a moment. “Moose is surely all concerned now.“   
He straightened the jacket of his black suit, recalling a long-bygone conversation.   
_“Don’t worry about them - what, like Lucifer didn't worry? Or Michael? Or Lilith or Alastair or Azazel didn't worry?! Am I the only game piece on the board who doesn't underestimate those denim-wrapped nightmares?!“_ he had replied to Castiel’s bold suggestion.   
He never underestimated them, neither would he ever simply engage in his business without making sure they were occupied. They were like his hellhounds, always needed a treat to run after in order to keep them away from him.

The other dared a tiny smile, then said, “Is that all then, Sir?“

Crowley nodded. But before his demon servant could leave, he called him back, “Oh and Lucas?“

Lucas swiftly turned on his heel. “Yes, Sir?“

“Keep watch on him. We don’t want him seriously injured now, do we?“

“Yes, Sir. I mean, no, Sir. We don’t. I’ll keep watch.“ With that Lucas left his boss’ office, leaving Crowley leaned back in his chair and enjoying the pleasant feeling of victory. Now that his gamesmanship was on, he could settle back on his business. 

_________________________

_Meanwhile in Sioux Falls, South Dakota._

Sam, Castiel and Bobby were about to perform a tracking spell to find out about Dean’s current location. They had needed some time to recover from the prior fight. Sam only had a little laceration at the back of his head, but the angel’s injuries had been more severe. It had cost him a good one and a half hour to be able to heal the deep cut all across his stomach. With the Winchester’s help he had managed to stop the bleeding of his vessel, but his grace had still shone out of the crack, until he had fully closed the wound. He had needed a little rest then to regain his powers. A sleeping angel on the couch had been a particularly rare sight to the hunters. 

Bobby had meanwhile prepared everything, a big map of South Dakota and the surrounding states was spread out upon his dining table. Dean shouldn't have come too far, he had stolen one of the functioning cars in the yard, but it had only been around five hours, since he was gone. 

Upon the map stood a three-legged device with something hanging from the tip that swung like a pendulum. For tracking him down he only needed the name and the right words and that way he would be able to pinpoint the exact location down to the street. 

When everyone was ready, the experienced hunter stilled the pendulum and spoke his Latin lines. “ _Egredere Dean Winchester. Ostende mini ubi sint tuae tenebrae. Et stabunt ad nos. Nos mod reperio ut vos proferre. Sic fac mecum ut patet ipsum. Sic fiat semper._ “

It took no more than a mere second until the device started circling and searching above the map, the tip of the pointed pendulum only millimeters apart from the piece of paper. An instant later it halted abruptly, a little farer off the East to where Sioux Falls was charted.   
Bobby frowned, Sam leaned in to have a better look, and Cas only blankly stared down to the map. 

“Iowa?“ the Winchester mumbled, then looked to his surrogate father. “What’s he doing in Iowa?“

Bobby lifted his hands as if in defense. “Don’t ask me“

Sam cleared his throat and then said, “Let’s go.“

“What? Now? It’s almost night, ya idjit. I ain’t going anywhere now. We’ll head out tomorrow mornin’,“ the older one gave back in the tone of a father telling off his son.   
Sam obeyed reluctantly, giving nothing but a sigh of impatience, slightly shifting where he stood. 

“You coming with us?“ he then asked, directed at the angel. 

“No.“ Castiel answered. “I will go to heaven in the meantime. I’ll pay heaven’s library a visit and try to find out what’s going on with Dean. Maybe one of the angels there has seen this before.“ He spoke as if confident, but there was a clear sting of reluctance in his voice, for he wasn't particularly welcomed in heaven. He was a rebelling angel.   
Serving man, not God. And certainly not heaven. 

Castiel disappeared, leaving the two hunters to their hope and worry. They put everything away then and settled in to rest for some hours, before tomorrow they would head out and find Dean, unsure of what would happen and how they would manage to get him back.

________________________

_Meanwhile in Fort Dodge, Iowa._

He leaned back into the greasy whitish pillow of the bed. He still felt those stirring waves of ecstasy flaming up inside him, the numbing sensation within his brain, a pulsing throb in the back of his head and neck. His body felt calm, but also weary in a way. It felt like he was hovering in the air, not lie upon a mattress. So light and wavy, so charmed by the aftereffects of drugs. 

He reached out to the nightstand and grabbed for the bottle of Gin, having a long sip of it. As he put it back down, he pulled one of his cheap cigarettes from the pack he had bought earlier and lighted it with his silver Zippo. Relaxing into the feeling of calming down, he drew a vast drag through the filter, inhaling it deeply, before he blew it back out into the air of the room. The bitter taste of tobacco and smoke layered over his alcohol-stained tongue, as his eyes found the figure sleeping next to him. 

Stark naked, she was lying on her stomach, her face turned the other way, a thin sheet covering only her middle. Her back curved delicately by her waist, before it arched up into the shape of her sturdy ass. While he was lazily trying to remember her name - it was something starting with S, he was sure - her body quivered, as she woke up and turned on her side. Her large fake boobs revealed themselves to him, while he recalled all the pleasure he had had with her body that past hour. 

A delighted smirk formed his lips then, when he found her sleepy dark green eyes looking back at him. She smiled, too, scooting closer and nuzzling up to him, her head settling on his bare chest and one leg resting about his thighs. He put an arm around her, the touch of skin on skin making him all aroused again. He put away the cigarette into an overloaded ashtray, then the back of his hand dangerously traced a line across her neck down to her collarbone, stopping only when it was on her chest between her boobs. 

He put his palm flat onto her ribs then, pushing her back into the mattress. Hovering above her, he fixed her eyes in what looked like fever, a smirk grazing his lips, as he leaned down and pushed them against hers. His middle shifted in between her legs, spreading them, while he ran one hand along the backside of her thigh and grabbed hold in the hollow of her knee, forcing her leg to bend towards her torso. The kiss became more passionate, both of them gasping for air and sharing their sweat, moving and rubbing against each other. The lady’s hands clawed into his hair, ruffling it wildly, as he sucked on her neck, as if he was seeking for blood. 

“Sally…,“ he aspirated suspiriously against the side of her neck, his hand making its slow way downwards, when stop. She pushed him off. An angry expression in her face.

“My name’s Daria.“ 

_Oh right_ , he thought, trying it with a boyish smirk, as if that would help anything. She left the room faster than he managed to word an appeasing apology, leaving him alone in his rented room.   
_Damn it, he cursed inside his head._

He reached for that bottle of Gin again and treated himself to many sips, when he lighted another cigarette. This party wasn't over yet. It only just began. The past hours had been some of the best he had ever had. More liquor than he had ever even drunk before, some pills to get his system started into the high he was seeking, girls and a lot of dancing. And sex. So much sex. 

This new body was all he never had. A liver that could bear a boat load of alcohol, a brain that wasn't used to drugs and more handsome than his old self would ever get, even at his best. The only thing he missed of his old life was the money. This guy didn't seem to have much of it, which was why he had checked in to this ramshackle motel. But with a face like that it didn't even matter to the ladies, whether they were lying on Egyptian cotton sheets or in some cheap room with dirty beds and dirty walls and dirty everything. 

He had wished to start this much sooner. All these days inside someone else’s head had been so tiring. But he hadn't managed to grab hold of control that easily, for the man this body belonged to had been far more resistant than he had thought.   
He had needed to break him first. Make him paranoid and confused, a hint first, then all at once. And sick. Exhausted to the bits, weakening him in a way he wasn't used to. First break the body, then his mind. Then he had made him draw away from his family, scared them in a way they hadn't seen coming.

And when they had started to try and push him out of this body and didn't succeed, he knew it. He knew that he had finally gotten hold of him. Attached to his being like a tightrope around his throat. And talking to him inside his head had been the final trick then, for he had told him that he was here, but denied him the chance to do anything against it. His will was finally broken enough to fully take over control. 

_Why, though?_ One could ask. Admittedly, at first it was the mere threat of that demon that had made him. But pressure had never really worked on him. What made him do it - and even willingly agree to it - was the demon’s blackmailing. The law enforcement was already breathing down his neck for those parties and the… inevitable sacrifices they had cost, so an all new face and all new opportunities had been a welcome promise. 

Now he could start over and avoid rotting in some prison. It was a jump into a deep end really, a free fall, an unsettled future. But it was also an easy way out and the only choice he had left.   
Like a phoenix he had risen from the ashes of his old life and blossomed into new glory. 

He closed his eyes, feeling stirs inside his skull, vibrating through his synapses like fishes through a stream. The sight before his inner eye changed from the dull color of his lids to a bright white and then to a wild mixture of different colors. Indigo… persimmon orange… ruby and crimson… kryptonite green… yellow… he was trying to find them all inside the swiftly whirling tunnel before him, in its center something that felt like nirvana. A storm of euphemism washed over him like a delicate shower of wisdom and a whole new transcendence. That drug he had purchased, whatever it was, didn't seem to wear off any time soon.   
A contented smile scurried across his lips, as he allowed himself to fall into the sensation of euphoria.

________________________

_The next day, day nineteen, Fort Dodge, Iowa._

The morning came and Cane woke up in a puddle of Gin and cigarette stubs.   
He rubbed his face, cracking his eyes open then and turning to the window. The merciless daylight reached into his room and almost blinded him, his head feeling heavy and numb, as he strode towards the bathroom. Catching his naked body in the full-length mirror by the door, he observed his new self for a few moments.   
He played with his muscles and watched his face turn to and fro, the edgy shape of his jaw bearing a bit of stubble, his green steely eyes, his pouty lips and the even facial features. His glance fell onto that tattoo just below his collarbone, as he found himself wondering what it meant. He didn't like it.   
_Probably going to get a cover up_ , he thought. 

He had a quick shower then, washing away the stains of old sweat and intoxication, cleansing the fresh temple he had won.   
He would have so much fun. Only looking at his soapy hands with the water dripping down on them, he felt their need and longing to have another round of game. Playing with someone else’s flesh and skin, feeling their cold sweat smelling of all the emotions. Inhaling that scent was better than any drug in the world. They needed blood, his hands, not water. Bathtubs full of blood. They needed to hold a knife or a dagger or any other pointer object, tearing apart a body, stabbing into flesh and innards, destroying the surface to get out what’s within. Murder. Torture. Maybe rape even, if he was in the mood. 

About half an hour later, after he had jerked himself off in the shower, the images of other people’s pain circling around in his memory like good porn, he got dressed. Not into those worn-out pair of jeans and the plaid shirt, this wasn't his style. His outfit was a smooth smoky-blue and perfectly fitting suit and a champagne-colored shirt with a tie the color of Japanese apricots. To that he was wearing fitting black leather dress shoes. 

Perfect. He felt like himself. Glorious genius. He turned to another mirror in the room and looked at his image like he was in love with himself. Deeply. Buttoning the ends of his shirt sleeves, he threw another glance in the mirror, he just couldn't let go of how great he looked.   
_Why not amuse myself with a little chat_ , he thought to himself, stepping closer to the mirror and smirking, before he closed his eyes for a brief instant and concentrated. 

“What…,“ came the voice from inside the mirror, as Cane was looking back at the Winchester’s distressed face. 

“Hello, Dean.“ He gave, smiling at him, as if he was an old friend. 

Dean didn’t answer, but only scanned the figure he was seeing, looking just like him, only dressed up in a cockamamie way. His expression switched to furious then, as he realized what this meant. 

“Get out if me!“ he demanded.

The other only chuckled and nodded in a non-agreeing way. “Not going to happen, my dear friend.“

“GET. THE FUCK. OUT OF ME!“

“Dean!“ Cane said in a rebuking and pretend shocked tone. “We won’t be able to have a chat, if you refuse to behave now, will we?“

“Behave my ass. You get out of me now, or I swear, I’ll-“

“What, Dean? What will you do to me? You must have realized by now, that you can’t do anything at all.“ With that the man wearing his body giggled like a lunatic.   
“This,“ he gestured down Dean’s body, “this is all mine now. And there’s nothing you can do about it, my friend.“

“I’m not your-“ he was cut off by being forced back into unconsciousness. A prisoner inside himself, helplessly at the mercy of evil.   
Cane straightened his suit, an entertained smile shaping his face, as he turned away from the mirror and scanned the room for that phone his friend inside had had with him. 

Suddenly the door burst open by kicking legs and two men stormed inside with guns and riot. Cane’s head shot up towards the entry and found those miserable hunters facing him with fiery looks and loaded weapons. He snorted and dramatically sighed in annoyance.

“I thought we were past that, guys.“ He beckoned at the guns, continuing in a bored voice. “I won’t leave his body, you won’t hurt said body… just… accept the fact that he’s gone.“

Sam frowned and lowered his gun. Right. No. “Get out of my brother!“

Another sigh. “What is it with you Winchesters? You seem to believe that your manly voices and the simple wishful thinking in your heads are all it needs to make others obey to you.“

Bobby abruptly shot his shotgun then, a loud noise of fired rock salt crashing through the room and reaching the man in the suit, forcing him a few steps backwards.   
“How about that?“ the hunter gave fiercely. 

“Ah come on!“ Cane whined. “My suit… look at what you’ve done.“

“Where did you get that anyway?“ Sam asked, actually interested in that random piece of information, but earning an annoyed side look from his companion and some irritated words. 

“Really? That’s what’s important to ya right now? Idjit.“

Cane only gave a mischievous smirk, clearly saying that he hadn't gotten that outfit in a legal way. 

“You’ll come with us now, until we figured out what to do,“ Sam stated, lifting his gun again and a determined threatening look in his face. 

“Make me.“

Both hunters remained absolutely silent then, their postures in a standstill like someone had stopped the movie. They didn't know how. They didn't know what to do next. They had nothing on their side to force him without harming Dean. What now?

“You can’t.“ Cane hissed in amusement. 

“But I can.“ A deep voice next to him suddenly said, making him throw his head to the left and widen his eyes in surprise. “And will.“ Castiel added, putting two fingers to his temple and the creature dropped to the floor. Asleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Before anyone (maybe with a lifted rebuking finger) wants to tell me off: I am aware that this chapter answers questions, but only such that are rather little and maybe not as important. ^^   
> Though, thanks for reading and the kudos :)  
> By the way (for those who care to know): that tracking spell is a partly free work of mine and since my skills in Latin are non-existent, I apologize if there are any mistakes in the translation. The words in English would be "Come forth, Dean Winchester. Show me where you are hiding. You will appear to us. We will venture forth to find you. So make yourself clear to me. So mote it be."
> 
> Next: After we got an answer to "Where's Dean?" and maybe still have a lump of "What the hell?" inside our throat, we will finally find out, what exactly is going on with Dean... right?


	14. Chapter Fourteen

# Chapter Fourteen

_“A dead truth is no truth.“  
(Eliezer Steinman)_

_Day Twenty, Sioux Falls._

“And will he… stay asleep now?“ Sam asked hesitantly.   
The angel looked back at him with that face he did whenever he wanted to say something, but barely felt able to, knowing the naked worry of the Winchester all too well. 

“No. I’m afraid he’ll wake at some point.“

“But… what do we do now?“

The room fell quiet for a moment, the two hunters shifting where they stood, desperately waiting for Castiel to give them answer and hope. But the angel seemed displeased with what he had found out in heaven’s library. His eyes trailed off to avoid Sam’s demanding stare that begged him to make it all good and he found the sleeping figure tied to the chair. He was wearing a new outfit, the angel discovered only now, but there were deep cracks and many holes in the fabric. 

“What happened to his clothing?“ Cas asked. 

“Bobby shot him,“ Sam said like a tattletale girl.   
Castiel threw the older hunter a disapproving and slightly shocked look, Bobby though not even near regretting it. 

“It was only rock salt. Few bruises, that’s all.“ The hunter gave randomly, as if it was all right to shoot your surrogate son, if it didn't kill him. “Can’t blame a girl for trying.“

“It didn't help.“ The angel stated. 

“Obviously,“ Bobby said cockishly. 

“It didn't help, cause we’re not dealing with a ghost possession, right?“ Sam gave, making the angel look at him, agreeing and like a teacher approving of his student. 

“No. This isn't ghost possession. It’s about souls.“ Castiel said matter-of-factly.   
The hunters turned to look at him in pure wonder, longing for further information. 

“Dean has two souls within his body.“ Cas continued, as the two appeared like they didn't understand. “Did you ever hear about Dibbuks?“   
None of them said a word, neither getting it, nor even shaking their heads. 

“Dibbuk translated means something like stranglehold or adherence. It’s a Jewish term. A Dibbuk is a creature from the ancient Kabbalah lore. It’s very mystic and utterly rare also, you can’t even find much written about it. Basically a Dibbuk is an evil deathly spirit that enters the body of someone alive. It happens when the soul of a dead person couldn't separate itself from its earthly existence, like for unfinished business or misconduct. The soul searches for a living body, much like a demon would. If it doesn't find one, it becomes a ghost. If it does find one, well… you see what happens then…“

The other two had listened closely to what Castiel was telling them, trying to follow and comprehend and stomach. The mere knowledge felt good and appeasing in a way, the burden of failure slowly falling off their shoulders. Knowing what they were dealing with was the first step to finish it. 

“So how do we kill it?“ Sam asked bluntly.

The angel stared at him for a long moment, his eyes appearing, as if he was sheerly shocked over the fact that the Winchester didn't seem like he had listened to what he had said. 

“We don’t,“ Cas replied, his tone unaccustomedly hysterical. “A soul can’t be killed, Sam.“  
He looked over to Bobby, as if to check if at least the elder one knew that, finding a hinted nod on that one’s face. 

“Okay,“ the Winchester said, but clearly wasn't okay with it. “How do we get it out of Dean then?“

“Well… we’ll need some preparation for that. We’ll need a shofar, that’s a musical instrument made from the horn of a ram or a kudu. To that we’ll need a righteous man, meaning a man who is eminently respectable, which will probably be the hardest to find.“ 

“We could get us a rabbi or a priest, right? What’s more righteous than a man serving god?“ Bobby offered. 

“Yes. That might work.“ The angel approved, after considering it for a brief instant. 

_________________________

He found himself sitting by his beloved Impala on a cool box, one hand holding a cold bottle of beer, the other resting on his thigh, as he stared out across the lake in front of him. It was a nice day, not too hot, but pleasantly warm, the sun sparkling down on him in a soft caress. The surface of the water shimmered, while mirroring the decreasing light of the day, the sky preparing to be painted in the colors of a sundown. A mild breeze was grazing his skin, as he leaned back against the smooth frame of his black car.   
This was it. Peace. Mere relaxing into doing nothing at all for a change. 

He stretched his legs on the gravel of the ground, as his limbs started to lose their tension. He was happy. For this one moment he was actually happy. Content with himself and his life and everything threatening that. He looked up, as a hawk screeched above his head, bolting through the sky on the hunt for prey. A smile crept onto his lips, glad that he himself could get away from hunting for now. He was at ease. The world could be so beautiful when it wasn't all blood and hurt and dying. 

He scratched the back of his head and had another sip of his beer, feeling a little silly when he caught himself envying those, who saw the world like that all the time. Those who didn't have to take care of monsters, who weren't responsible for other people’s lives. Who didn't have to save the world. Over and over again. Just living their lives and having families and dinner parties and their biggest worries about choosing the right color and pattern for the curtains in their living rooms.   
Happy were the unaware. 

His eyes flew across the water towards a small wooden rack at the lake’s shore a couple of feet away to his right. He hadn't noticed before, or maybe she simply hadn't been there until now, but there was a woman standing on it. She was wearing a white cotton and lace dress and blond curly hair was falling over her shoulders. Even when he couldn't quite make out her face, something felt familiar about her. 

He hesitated for a moment, but rose then, putting down his bottle on the cool box and walking across the grass towards the rack. He couldn't quite explain why, but the closer he got, the harder his heart was pounding against his chest. 

When he heard the dull sound of his heavy boots meeting the musty wood of the rack beneath them, he found himself nervous and nearly shaking. The woman stood with her back to him, her long hair shining with the sun above, winning in beauty. 

He exhaled a long startled breath, as he reached out his arm and softly and barely touched her shoulder. She turned around to him, not surprised, but her face forming into a warm smile, warm as the air around them. Her eyes glowed with sheer adoration and peace, pleased he had found her. 

“Dean,“ she barely even whispered, still managing to make it sound like a cry inside his head. 

His lips trembled in complete disbelief and his eyes gaped open as wide as they could. A sound of endless emotion came out of him as something like a rattled sigh, when he reached out again and his fingers got hold of one of her curls, touching and moving it through his fingers, as if he was waiting for her to vanish into thin air right there. But she was real. She was here, right in front of him. As if nothing had ever happened.

“Mum?“ he aspirated like the little boy back then when she was still alive would have. “How…“

“How could I not,“ she stated more than asked. She put her hand to his cheek, watching her thumb slowly tracing over his skin for a moment, before her eyes found back to his. “I’m so proud of you, I hope you know that.“ She chirruped. 

He fell into the soft touch like into a bath full of feathers and his heart melted down to slow beats of sheer easing. His eyes fell shut for a long while and when he opened them again, she was still there, glancing him down into happy and easy. Because all had been easy with her still there. Days had been easy, life and family, too. No curse hanging above them like a dark cloud, no demons or ghosts or monsters. No angels. Except for those she had kept telling him about to make even his sleep easy. 

“Mum, I…,“ he aspirated, trailing off, because… what was he supposed to say to her? How could she be proud of him? How could anyone love a son that kills and fails and has oceans of blood on his hands? 

“It’s all right, sweetie,“ she simply said, in a way that made it feel like it would be now. She put her arms around his neck and pulled him in to a warm embrace, her breathing grazing his chest like the most amazing feeling in the world.   
His mind was empty of all the questions and all the explanations, it was only filled with happiness, trying to draw in as much of it as he possibly could like he would try to make up for all that time he hadn't had the chance to do that. 

When she eventually let go of him, that loving smile still on her face, even drowning out the incredibly beautiful sundown behind her, she chuckled a faint-hearted laugh and said, “You don’t need to worry, son, I was never prouder of you. This life of yours, it’s all I ever wanted for you.“

Suddenly Dean felt a sting in his heart, the hard bone-crushing truth hitting him like a lightning bolt directly into his love. All she ever wanted for him?

“No,“ he whispered confusedly, his eyes wide with shock and sorrow. “No, it’s not.“

She frowned and put her hand to his cheek again, but he grabbed it and moved it away. The hurt gaze staring her down.  
“What are you talking about, Dean? Sure it is! You’re an excellent hunter and I’m so proud of-“

“No,“ Dean said again, cutting her off while he was still holding her suddenly stiff hand. “You never wanted this, mum. You wanted us to have normal lives, me and Sammy.“ His voice became louder and more harsh, squinting his brows and feeling anger layering over his shock. 

“Well, of course I did, but that’s not… that’s… that’s not how it works, I…“ She trailed off, apparently having a hard time to find something to say. “But I’m proud, you’re making it a good one, sunshine.“

“What did you always tell me?“ 

“What?“

“What did you tell me, when I was little and you tucked me in at night?“ Dean asked, letting go of her hand finally, his eyes beaming with accusation and still a tiny hint of hope. 

“Well, I… I told you… that I love you“

“Yeah, that’s what every mother would tell her son, don’t you think? I mean the other thing.“

“I… I told you that…,“ she seemed to consider for a moment, but before she had the chance to make another blank guess, Dean lost his patience and hope and prevented her, and mostly himself, from another hurtful speculation. 

“You told me that angels were watching over me.“ He said, so much grief and sadness in his voice, it could have filled a large pool. 

“Of course,“ she lied. “I remember“

“Who are you?“ Dean shot. 

“What- Dean, I’m your mother, what is… what are you suggesting… I…“

But the Winchester didn't believe a single word out of the woman’s mouth, taking a step back from her, not as if scared, but more like he was disgusted about how shameless this was. Using his mother of all people to masquerade themselves, playing with his heart, playing with his hurt and his loss.   
It was perverted into the depth of existence. 

The woman found his rejection and doubt, tried to play along a little instant longer, until she simply smiled. A sigh that sounded somewhat amused went out of her, as if someone had just caught her pulling a silly prank. Then she looked to the ground for a second and back up to him.   
The figure before him blurred and transformed into someone other. 

“Hello, Dean,“ the man said, a smirk disgracing his face, as Dean finally realized it. 

“This isn't real, is it?“ he asked, moving a hand over his face and glancing across the water again, his voice broken and his eyes forcing back tears. It looked real. But then again, how had he even gotten here? And where was he?

“No,“ Cane answered, and he would have seemed like feeling guilty about it, wasn't it for the devilish smirk upon his lips. “We’re in your head again.“

“Why all that show? Why not just simply talk to me like a normal person?“

“Well,“ Cane began softly, but still amused. “One, I’m not normal, as you might have figured out by now. Two, I’m not exactly a person anymore, you see, soul in another’s body and all. And three… last time I tried to… _simply_ talk to you, you got all angry and stubborn and unreasonable. So I figured, this…,“ with that he made that circling gesture with his fingers again, “I thought this might calm you down a little and make you able to talk in a civilized way.“

And then Dean remembered. All the events of the past days and weeks shot into his mind like they just now returned. 

“So I’m asleep again or what?“

“Yes. Well, kind of. It’s some sort of fake sleep, I think. Your weird friend with that abomination of a trench coat and the slippy fingers made us pass out.“

“Cas?“ Dean asked to himself, his eyes scanning the wooden boards beneath him and desperately trying to find his last memory.   
Pain. There had been a lot of pain. And Enochian words. And then he had been talking to Cane. But there was nothing afterwards or in between. 

“What did you do?“ he asked the other man then. “Where am I?“

“Well, we’re in that house again. I don’t like it there, to be honest. It’s all worn-out and battered and old and dusty. It think we should leave again.“

“There’s no _we_ ,“ Dean shot. “But you should leave. Like now!“

“Dean… why are you always so angry with me? I’m just trying to protect us, that’s all. I’ll make it a good fancy life for us, we’ll have a good time, I promise.“

Something in Cane’s voice really made it feel promising. A way out of his miserable existence, no hurt, no blood, no more deaths. And for a moment it almost seemed like Dean was considering the option he was offered.   
But he really wasn’t. 

“Tell me what’s happening right now!“ he demanded. “Like, in reality, outside of my mind. Did you hurt anyone?“

“Well… I don’t get why you care so much about them, Dean. They hurt us. They even shot at us! They tied us to a chair!“

“They sure got their reasons, like you being a dick. They didn't tie _me_ to a chair, they did that to you!“

“Nah. I mean, it’s almost heart-warming, the way you feel about them… but don’t you see it, Dean? Don’t you get that they don’t care anymore? You’re lost to them, just another monster in their eyes now. They’ll do anything to get rid of you. They caused all that pain with that last spell, didn't they? You think anyone would do that to their loved one? And see, that’s where I came in, made the pain stop for you, stepped in for the rescue and ran out of their reach, so they couldn't hurt us anymore.“

Dean looked to the ground again, his thoughts rushing through his brain like a storm of disarray and lost hope. They _had_ hurt him. Badly. They had watched him get worse and worse and done nothing about it. They hadn't noticed his condition, until it had gotten too obvious to ignore. They had left him to himself, only fetching him for rounds of abashment and humiliation and silly rituals and spells that had done squat.   
Maybe they had only pretended to try. Maybe they had long given up on him. Maybe they really didn't care. Maybe they would kill him. Finally. Just another burden on their shoulders, just another monster to hunt down and murder, so the world would finally be rid of him. 

“Bull!“ he suddenly cried out, nearly believing it, for the sheer need of belief. 

“Dean. You need to see the obvious here. I’m not the bad guy. They are.“

“Bull,“ he cried again, this time less fiercely, for he didn't have any other arguments against him. He made his step forwards again, fixing the other’s eyes in a threatening glare and pushing so much air out of his lungs, it felt like he was on the edge of passing out. 

“I’ll make you pay for what you did to me. I’ll find a way to get you out and you’ll regret you ever came in.“

For a mere second Cane looked somewhat scared, but then his expression changed back into his calm smile. “You’ll see yourself, Dean.“   
Then he clicked his fingers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So. I hope you liked this chapter, dialogues aren't really one of my brighter talents ^^  
> I'd like to thank you for more hits and kudos :) And sorry for that ugly cliffhanger :D
> 
> Next: We reached the final chapter! You also hear "Carry on my Wayward Son" in the back of your heads and the bubbling nervousness in your veins? Well, I hope so, because like canon models of the famous clicking fingers at the end of a story/episode/movie - like Thanos in Infinity War or (for those who haven't seen Season 14 yet, please jump to ***) !!!SPOILER ALERT!!! Michael!Dean at the end of that epic episode :O,   
> *** now comes the classic End Game (sorry, I'm currently soul-crushed by the Avengers movie)... how will the others do? Will they manage to exorcise Dibbuk? See you next time...


	15. Chapter Fifteen

# Chapter Fifteen

_“If you lie on the ground, you cannot fall.“  
(Jewish proverb)_

_Still day twenty. Sioux Falls._

Sam was sitting on a wooden chair with the back rest between his legs, his arms resting on top of it, just like his chin. He blankly stared at his brother opposite to him, still passed out and hanging in the ropes around of him, his head lowered to his chest. He could barely cope with the sight. He could barely bear seeing his brother like this. 

_We should’ve done something sooner_ , he thought, his guilt trip just about to reach its vertex. He wiped the sweat off his forehead on his sleeve and settled his eyes back on Dean, trailing off to times before all this. His brother was the strongest person he knew, his idol, his mentor. His family.   
_What if we can’t save him?_

That was when Castiel entered the room, his soft steps barely even hearable until they stopped right beside him. Sam looked up at him, desperate and full of sorrow. Then back to his brother, as if he was afraid he would disappear, if he didn't keep permanent watch. 

Cas put a gentle hand on the Winchester’s shoulder, slightly squeezing it with compassion, then moved it away again, saying, “He will probably wake up anytime now.“

Sam only sighed, still displeased with the fact that they couldn't save Dean yet. They weren't anywhere near ready for the expulsion of a Dibbuk, and even if they were, nobody knew if it would work. They had never dealt with anything like it before. This wasn't like a ghost you could get rid of by burning their remains, or a demon you could send to hell by a simple exorcism.   
This was new.

And Sam caught himself wishing Dean was here to help them. Dean had always been a go-getter, someone who would just get at it and kick everyone’s ass until the job was done. Dean would know how to talk to a Dibbuk. He would sass the hell out of Cane, manipulate and threaten him, until they would reach their goal. Giving him motivational speeches whenever Sam found himself drifting into doubts. But without him there it was just them. Bobby’s knowledge that hadn't known anything this time, Cas’ celestial powers that could only help to procrastinate the problem, and Sam. Sam’s helplessness didn't help anything or anyone. He failed. He failed Dean. 

He was abruptly pulled out of his train of miserableness, when the figure he was fixing with his weary eyes suddenly started moving. Dean gave a quiet groan, twitched his head up and agonizingly slowly opened his eyes. Six hours he had been unconscious. 

The older Winchester’s clouded eyes hauled themselves across the room and the air, without focussing on anything, until they eventually found Sam’s. A hinted expression of confusion shaped his face then, as he glanced up to the angel and back to his brother again. Then he looked down on himself, finding the ropes about him and the naked fact that he was tied to a chair. 

His brows squinted, as he slightly cleared his throat and the lump in it away, his hoarse voice asking, “What’s going on?“

The other two exchanged an uneasy look, as Sam finally managed to answer, “Dean?“

“Yeah, it’s me,“ the older of the brothers exclaimed, as if it was supposed to be obvious, when it really wasn’t. 

“What uh… what do you remember?“

Dean pondered for a moment, then gave, “We did that Enochian spell“

They exchanged another glance and Sam cleared his throat, slightly nodding. “So you’re not aware of what Cane does?“

“I am aware that he does things, but no… guess not.“ He looked down at himself again. “What’s all this?“

“Dean, we… we needed to tie you up,“ his little brother answered, unsettled. “Last time Cane beat us up good, y’know.“

They found a stare of offense in the older Winchester’s face then. “But I’m not him!“ he protested. “You can untie me now!“

“We can’t.“ Castiel said, as he noticed Sam’s hesitation. But before he could explain, Dean cut him off in a desperately begging voice.

“Why not?“

“It’s simply too dangerous, Dean.“

“So what, you scared of me now?“ Dean shot, the glare in his eyes hitting the angel without any mercy. 

“No, that’s- Dean…“

“I’m not a monster!“ he cried. “I’m not a _fucking_ monster!“   
His eyes begged them so much, it was barely bearable, when he added, in a mere whisper, “I swear…“

Sam ran a hand over his face and looked away for a moment, trying to hide his rising tears and growing despair. “I know, Dean,“ he said, “we know“

“Do you?“ Dean threw at them, much louder and with a wave of accusation in his tone. “Do you _really_? How am I supposed to believe that? I’m tied to a chair, god damn it! Sam… Sammy, I… I’m not a monster… please, don’t kill me… _please_ “

“I know, Dean,“ Sam aspirated into the air, finally looking back at his brother, no longer able to hold back the tears from coming. “I won’t kill you. None of us will, I swear“

“What you gonna do then?“

“We got something that’ll help you, we’ll save you, Dean, I swear to god, I’ll save you“

Dean looked into his little brother’s face and found all he should have known. Cane’s words were still lingering somewhere in the back of his head, telling him to break free and run away, telling him that they didn't care, that they’re just stalling or pretending, that they’ll kill him eventually.   
_Maybe they’re just waiting for Bobby, so he can see the show, too,_ he found himself thinking. But the tears in Sam’s face and the hurt and sorrow there, it didn't match what Cane had said. Yet, there was all that doubt and suspicion within him. Yet, there was that bloodcurdling mistrust that had been seeded in his mind. Yet, there was all that fear and those memories of the slaughterous pain. But still… the belief he had in his family was so much more endless and striking, he just had to believe them. Blindly and without question.

“Sammy, it’s all right… we’ll just-“ but he wasn't able to finish his sentence. A shrill noise suddenly bolted through his head and some pressure clouded his thinking. He squinted his eyes shut, groaning with the unpleasant feeling, trying to fight back, but then… all black. 

“Dean?“ Sam exclaimed, standing up from his chair and watching his brother struggling, until the tormented expression in his face suddenly eased and calmed.   
“Dean?“ Sam said again and his brother opened his eyes again and looked right into his. Only that there was something strange inside them and they went even darker, while the smile went brighter. 

“No, I’m afraid not.“ The man said with Dean’s voice. 

“Cane.“ Castiel stated in sheer disgust. 

“Bingo!“

“What did you do to my brother?“ Sam almost yelled, stepping closer and scowling at him. 

“Nothing,“ Cane swore. “I won’t hurt Dean. I really like him, to be honest. He and I got really close by now, like good friends or like… family“

Sam couldn't quite tell if he was lying, but the brazen-faced use of the word _family_ got him as mad as never before. Dean was _their_ family, not his. He knew Cane only used that word to make him lose it, to provoke him as much as possible, but no matter how hard the Winchester tried to fight it, he couldn't help but let it work. The mere thought of losing Dean was just too much to take. 

“What did you do to my brother?“ Sam repeated through gritted teeth. 

“Like I said, nothing. He’s back to his happy place now. He really likes it there, got his mother there as well, it’s a nice place.“

Sam ran his hand over his face again, erasing the last remains of tears and feeling the sting in his heart. Their mother. He knew Dean would love to be with her, he knew Dean would be at peace and happy at that place inside his mind. And it broke Sam’s heart to know that he would have to pull his brother away and back into the crappy reality they lived in. 

“I wanna talk to Dean again,“ Sam demanded. 

“I won’t let you.“ Cane gave back, suddenly all serious and without that mischievous smirk. 

“Why not? It’s not like he could force you out or anything“

“Yes. But I won’t do that to him. Like I said, I like him. And he’s really happy right now, I can feel it. He wants to stay where he is.“

“That’s just cause he doesn't know it’s not real!“ Sam shot angrily.

“No. He does know. I told him. But he still wants to stay.“

Sam didn’t want to believe that. He didn't want to believe that his brother would abandon him for an illusion, giving the control to Cane and putting his family and innocent people in danger just for the sake of being happy. But he still felt that aching pang in his heart that maybe Dean was done. Maybe Dean wasn't that guy anymore, the one who saves the world, hunts things, protects his little brother no matter what. Maybe Dean had been broken and persuaded enough to finally give up and allow himself some peace.   
Sam didn’t want to believe it, but he couldn't help but do it.

Then the angel beside him piped up again, sensing the Winchester was lost in his emotions. “Why are you doing this?“

“Well, for once I want to live, right? But I also needed a new face, and when Crowley’s servant offered me to participate in their plan, I was all ears.“

“What plan?“

“Well, I don’t know the details, but I think it was something about distracting you guys.“

The other two exchanged a concerned and somewhat annoyed look, sighing simultaneously like straight out of a sitcom, it almost had something comical. But this wasn't funny. 

“You do know that Crowley’s plans don’t always work out, right?“ Castiel said fiercely. “We found a way to cast you out and then you’ll just be another one, who got scammed by him.“

Cane seemed like he considered it for a moment, but then said, “I think it worked out just fine. He got what he wanted, I got what I wanted, we’re all happy. Even Dean is.“

“Dean will fight this!“ Sam threw in, finally having found his voice back. 

“He might,“ Cane remarked. “But then again… he won’t be here too long anyway.“

“What’s that supposed to mean?“

“Well, he’s fading, slowly vanishing into his own memories until he’ll be one himself. It’s going to be a soft and pleasant death, but… still a death. And then there won’t be anything you chuckleheads can do to save him.“

Sam looked at him in horror, his heart jamming inside his ribcage as if trapped, and his hope began to sink back into wherever it had come from, making space for the grief he didn't want to allow in just yet.

_________________________

_One day later, day twenty-one. Sioux Falls._

Dean’s body was still tied to that chair in the middle of Bobby’s living room. Cane was awake, Dean was not. He seemed highly amused by all the preparations the two hunters and the angel had made in order to cast him out. And there was another man now, someone he hadn't seen before, but according to the way he was dressed, Cane assumed it must be some rabbi. The man wore black and white robes, a long graceful gray beard and long hair as well, two curly strands hanging at his sides, and a black kippa on his head. Wrapped around his arm a long black leathery ribbon leading to the Tefillin, a small box called the prayer capsule. About his neck a traditional prayer scarf, the Tallit.

Bobby, Sam and Castiel had gathered themselves in the back of the room. Bobby was relieved that he had managed to convince the rabbi of helping them and when Sam had asked how he had found him, his surrogate father had only shrugged and babbled something about how the man owed him one. They watched silently, as the rabbi prepared himself with washing his hands carefully and deeply concentrating. Then Rabbi Ephraim Goldberg situated himself in front of the tied up man and started to speak his prayer in order to banish the evil spirit from Dean Winchester. 

“Baruch Atah Adošem m’chajeh haMetim.“ - _Praise you, who resurrects the death._   
Cane snorted out loud, chuckled even. But just then, he only hid the fact that he suddenly felt the energy of the Winchester within him grow larger again. Dean had almost been giving himself up to the memory of his mother and the warm embrace of peace, but now he took notice that something was happening, getting pulled out of the blur of masked dying. 

“Atah Gibor leOlam Adonaj, mechajeh Metim atah, raw lehoschia.“ - _You’re all-mighty in eternity, eternal one, you resurrect the death, infinite your power to help._   
Inside the shared mind Cane saw Dean putting his beer away, refusing to let his mother distract him any longer, rose and stared up to the sky. The light of the sun above him seemed to increase in brightness, blinding him, but clearly catching his attention now.   
In reality Cane almost shivered, closed his eyes to concentrate on pulling Dean back into the depths of unconsciousness. 

“Mechalkel Chajim beChesed.“ - _Conserving the living in graciousness._  
Dean made a few steps across the gravel, still staring upwards, when he suddenly felt a hand holding him back. “Dean,“ his mother said softly. “Please, stay. Stay here with me.“  
“You’re dead.“ Dean simply answered, as he finally realized it.   
“ _Here_ I’m not.“

“Mechajeh Metim beRachamim rabim.“ - _Resurrecting the dead in never ending mercy._  
“Dean, stay,“ his mother begged. The Winchester turned around to her, looking into her warm face and watching her blonde illuminated curls waving back, as a soft breeze started to graze through them.   
“I can’t…,“ Dean aspirated, his expression showing all the sadness he had within him. A silent tear rolled down his cheek, as his chin started trembling and shaking. 

“Somech Noflim werofej Cholim.“ - _Supporting the falling and curing the sick._  
The world around Dean slowly began to blur into a place that was all white. His mother vanished before his eyes, the lake, the sun, the gravel beneath his boots. He was trapped in something made of sheer nothingness, only light and himself. And suddenly he felt lost and helpless, his eyes darting around desperately.   
Cane exhaled a groan of struggle, as he found himself now unable to stop it, but still giving it his all to pull Dean back into his dream world. His head was leaned forward, his eyes still closed, trying hard to fight back. 

“Umatir Asurim umekajem Emunato leJischenej Afar.“ - _Freeing prisoners and holding loyalty to those who sleep in the ashes._  
Cane hissed out his breath, as he felt himself losing control over Dean. “No…,“ he snarled, determined to stop this.  
Dean blinked, as he noticed the space around him, no matter how endless it seemed to be, becoming tighter about him, the invisible walls coming closer and threatening to swallow him. But he wasn't scared, he welcomed them, feeling captured and released at the same time. And then it suddenly stopped and he felt helpless again.

“Mi kamocha Baal Gwurot umi domeh lecha.“ - _Who is like you, Lord, full of power, and who is alike to you._  
The rabbi stopped for a moment, as nothing seemed to happen. Then continued his prayer.   
“Melech memit umechajeh umazmiach Jeschuah.“ - _King, killing one and exhilarant one and one that creates hope._  
Cane suddenly cried out a scream of pain, hissing and panting and feeling Dean rise into consciousness and control again. He fought back hard, growling and snarling like a wild animal. And that was when Rabbi Goldberg spoke the last words of his prayer, followed by the sound of blowing into the shofar, its deep roar echoing through the room. 

“Wenaeman atah lehachiot Metim.“ - _And loyal you are to resurrect the death._

For entire four minutes nothing happened at all. The rabbi stood there, holding the shofar, calmly looking at the figure in the chair. Sam had pushed himself off the wall and stared at his brother in expectation, but Dean’s body was only hanging loosely in the ropes again, silent and barely even breathing. 

Then his head suddenly shot upwards, his eyes terrified for a moment and whirring about his surroundings like a hummingbird on the search for nectar. He eventually found his little brother, who had stepped closer and looked at him full of hope. 

“Sammy,“ he hummed hoarsely and deep. 

“Dean?“ Sam dared to ask.

Then Castiel approached them, put his hand on the older Winchester’s head and scanned his mind. When his eyes lost their angelic glow, he looked over at the rabbi, trying to find assurance for what he thought. Mr. Goldberg slightly nodded, recalling their plan of before. Because the prayer wasn't capable of casting out the evil spirit within, it only captured it in a state of powerlessness.

And the angel could feel its miserable shape inside his friend’s mind. Crouching and weeping and whining, trying hard to fight its way out of its prison. But it couldn’t. And now was the time for Castiel to banish it completely. 

He put his hand flat onto Dean’s chest and focussed all his gathered power into him, as his eyes started glowing in ice-blue again and a shrill ringing noise radiated from him. Cas struggled hard, but eventually he managed to get a hold on Cane’s soul. 

Dean felt the angel’s powers entering him, the impetuous pressure on his innards barely letting him breathe, as he threw back his head and cringed his eyes shut at the dull pain. A huge something, feeling like a gobbet or a rock, was separated from his inside, the claws of the celestial force digging into him like those of a tiger, ripping and tearing it from him and pulling it out. 

Castiel moved his hand away slowly, agonizingly, it was like torture. A cloud of something moved with him, but it didn't look like a soul normally would, bright shiny white light, it was a dark night blue colored fog, circling and fighting and eventually rolling into a ball by being exposed to the air and separated from its host. It almost seemed like it would scream and beg, if smoke could do that. 

The angel and everyone around watched the ball for a moment, tossing and turning above Cas’ hand, as if to try and flee. But it couldn’t, and so it was eventually sent away from this world to where it belonged. Wherever that was. 

The soul vanished and so did the light in the angel’s eyes. Dean gasped for air in his chair, as Cas finally loosened the ropes around him. Dean instantly put both his hands to his chest, the mere faint of decreasing pain being soothed and eased.

“How are you feeling?“ Cas asked, settling his hand on his shoulder. 

The Winchester closed his eyes for a brief instant, sighed and inhaled some air back in. “Li-like I… like I was scrubbed with soap in the inside… I guess Hasselhoff got out of K.I.T.T. then huh?“

“I… I don’t understand that reference.“ Castiel gave with a puzzled face. 

Sam and Bobby chuckled. 

Sam finally got his brother back, the rescue a big success, and he happily went back to hunting with him, just like in the old days. They chopped and sliced and burned and no one every tried to take his brother from him again.   
Bobby also kept hunting, every now and then he would call the boys and get visited by them.   
Castiel fell content with his new home, the earth, amongst the humans he liked so much, especially Dean. Never did anything come his way again that he couldn't handle.   
And Dean? Well, Dean was happier than ever. He was himself again, back to smirking and sassiness and joking where he really shouldn’t, plus a lot of bacon cheese burgers and beer and the finest whiskey.

And they lived happily ever after…

Of course not. It’s Team Free Will we’re talking about. It didn't end like that, because it never does, right? Sure enough they had to find and face Crowley now and kick his ass good. Why? Because the hunting never ends.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So. This was the final chapter then. I hope everyone liked it. The fake view into the future in the end were adopted from the movie "Vice" btw (awesome movie!) and the sarcastic comments from the view of the storyteller? Well, I couldn't help it ^^  
> Thanks to everyone who read, reads or will read my story! Thanks for all the hits, the bookmarks and subscribing and kudos!


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